The AC is broken in our house, blowing way too strong, to the point where I’m too cold to take my hand out of the blanket to call the AC company or whatever. So cold, that Waylon is clinging to me without pulling my hair under these blankets.
When I was a kid, I thought I was. I can’t believe I’m crying already. Sometimes I think people don’t understand how lonely it is to be a kid, like you don’t matter. So, I’m eight, and I have these toys, these dolls. My favorite is this ugly girl doll who I call Clementine, and I keep yelling at her, “You can’t be ugly! Be pretty!” It’s weird, like if I can transform her, I would magically change, too.