Living Amid the Myths

It's raining, raining, raining. And not the good kind of rain. It's cold and gloomy and I feel all unsettled inside.

And someone else bought poor Chuck at the auction even though I tried very hard not to let someone do that. I hope he comes back.

I keep looking over my shoulder, feeling like there's something there, like there's something scary right on the edge of my awareness or my memory or something. I don't know what it is.

I'm home now. I went to work at the Library this morning and stayed as long as I could, but when the rain started pouring down I went home before everything got washed out. Now I'm curled up on my bed watching the rain on the roof and thinking that this is just the kind of Rain and me that people don't like.

I don't blame them. I don't even like me like this.

I think... I think my dad may have wanted to kill me. He sure told me enough that he wished I was dead or that I should have died - instead, you know?

But there were a couple of times when I woke up and he was standing over me with this Look and I'd be so scared and the next day he'd cry a lot and get really drunk and pretty soon we'd be off somewhere else.

Saw lots of people die - kids mostly, but big people too...

I don't know why I'm talking about this. I don't like to remember.

And I'm still sick. Not so bad as when Tony and Mat had to come help me, but I can't stay up for more than a little while 'cause I'm just too tired. I'm really glad I can see the sky and the stars and the trees overhead from my bed or I'd be really not happy and scared about being stuck inside.