10.07.05

Ooooo. I'm so tough.

Actually, I'm learning that I'm not. So tough, that is. It's a relief to accept it. Being an only child forced me to take on all of the expectations of my parents. The pressure to be strong, though unspoken, was still felt.

I was 10 was the first time I felt like the adult and Mater was the kid. My father had just told her that he was having an affair. She came into the living room, crying. I remember standing on the sofa, my arms wrapped around her, as she sobbed against my chest.

When my parents separated, Pater fucked off to New York. Mater started dating and I was on my own. Because I was "so mature" neither one had any qualms about leaving me to myself.

Mater went back to school (which was a good thing--I totally supported that), graduated, and went to work. She worked midnights, so I was home alone more often than not. Thank goodness for my books.

However, I developed an appearance of tough that's hard to breach. I think people are attracted to that, then startled when I'm as fallible and dippy as anyone else.

I dunno.

What d'you think?

Go. Be fabulous.

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