At FIVE??? I can’t keep them straight NOW.

When I was a child I was obsessed with my mother’s death. I would work myself up, entirely on purpose, into a frenzied, sobbing, snot ball, imagining her gone.

It happened all sorts of ways. I think now that it was my way of trying to prepare myself emotionally for the possibility of losing the only person standing between my father and me.

Who knows.

I didn’t hold procedurally accurate finger meetings in bed. I did read one to two novels a night, and compose sad songs about dead mothers.

I was a little weird.