I Am Getting Better At Smiling When

None Of [the Books Are] Worth Reading. There Are No Fairy Tales, No Faerie Tails, No Sword-swinging Princesses Or Lightning-throwing Gods.

I Want To Be In Fifth Grade Again. Now, That Is A Deep Dark Secret, Almost As Big As The Other One. Fifth Grade Was Easy -- Old Enough To Play Outside Without Mom, Too Young To Go Off The Block. The Perfect Leash Length.

I Showed Her How I'd Been Making Tiny Cuts In My Skin To Let The Badness And The Pain Leak Out. They Were Shallow At First, And Short, Like Claw Marks Made By A Desperate Cat That Wanted To Hid Under The Front Porch. Cutting Pain Was A Different Flavor Of Hurt. It Made It Easier Not To Think About Having My Body And My Family And My Life Stolen, Made It Easier Not To Care.

I Need To Finish This Scarf/shawl/blanket Thing So I Can Start Something For Emma- A Hat, Maybe, Or A Sweater For Her Stuffed Elephant.

I Am Beginning To Measure Myself In Strength, Not Pounds. Sometimes In Smiles.