I used to think about family everyday, or, perhaps, I used to think more about the lack of it.
When I was growing up, my mom, a very lovely and twisted woman, used to say that a girl’s only job was to be a mother, and that she hated being a woman because of that.
Now, as weird as it may seem, I don’t believe my mother used to say that to hurt me, I think, it was just her way to recognize her own pain.
Yet, I suppose that this was one of the reasons why she ended up in that mental hospital, next to Vivien Leigh. I tell ya, that woman might have been the most gorgeous that ever was, but she was bat-freaking-crazy.
Papa, on the other hand, well he wasn’t all that bad, he did use to tell me that I was a princess, and that I could do anything I wanted to. Of course, that was as long as he was hammered as freaking Thor’s Mjlonir, and he had a beer on his hand. But still, he tried. Sadly, the old man had that old bad tendency to drive and drink, and in a small town like ours, where the poor man was probable to eventually hit someone or something, we just never expected it was himself who would be hit by a tree. I swear, poor Jim Smith, he must have been turning over his death body in the freaking grave.
Now, let me tell ya all this one thing, I don’t blame the old folks for this, I mean, honestly, this has always been my kind of thing. See, I have what my doc calls: “tendencies”, and one of them involves getting into deep shit really quick. Like that time in 7th grade, when I started that fire in the lab. It is not as if I wanted to set it on fire, is just that, well… who would have known how flammable nitrogen really was? I do feel sorry about Lucy Jackson’s hair, thou. That girl did not stop looking at me as if I had meant it for the next 3 years.
Oh, wait, you are asking why I have these tendencies? Well, doc says it is because I want attention, but I say that it is just so damn fun….
Except for today.
I’m so sorry kid, a lot more than with Lucy. Look, if I were a bit more like Laura Palmer, that pretty blond girl with the pretty little dog, and the good husband, I’d be popping you out in 7 months and I’d be painting the walls in that creamy yellow baby color that I suppose you’d like. But I ain’t no Laura Palmer. And I’m sure as hell you don’t want me to be like my mom.
I’m just a girl, who’s taking you out before you get too comfy. I’m just a fucking big mess up. I suppose I will always think about family, or perhaps, more about the lack of it.