Yesterday we took the chicks to the backyard and let them explore a tiny bit. They seem to like it. It’s been warm the past few days so they were fine in the weather. It’s been too hot, like summer, I kept having to pretend I was excited about it at the grocery store (small talk with the customers, alas, so difficult).
We watched part of a documentary about Judy Blume yesterday, and I thought the things the children were worried about at puberty really weird, because I rarely thought about it. I didn’t think about my period, got my period, cried about it, then mostly didn’t think about it. I wish I’d had a life where my most pressing worries were, ‘what if I get my period last’ or ‘what if I have the smallest breasts in class’. At least in the barrage of other worries I didn’t think about it once. Perhaps I just didn’t have any friends. Did you ever think about stuff like that? You cared what people think more, so I think it’s a little more likely. I don’t remember pre-trauma childhood very well anymore. I wish I could.
Mom told me that Mom (Mel) used to write fiction in college(grad school???). I wish I could read some. Perhaps it would tell me something. Mom is a stranger I see and never know. I don’t know if I ever saw her at all.
It’s time for dinner. Forgive me if this reads more like a sad Christmas list than anything. I want rain, I want Mom. I want to know what you want the most. Until then, this place remains rather diary-esque. Like Jonathan Harker’s diary or Werther’s letters to Wilhelm.
Yours ever,
Alice