Sometimes I feel as if all I ever thought about as a young child was the future. What was I going to be when I grew up? When would I finally be the “big kid” in Junior High? Would I ever get kissed by a boy?
The answers are, in order: A writer and Halloween freak; never (at least on the “big” part — I’m tiny); and yes, it happened, and it was kinda gross.
Those answers are easy. And they’re easily predictable. A stranger could likely have answered them; they’re all very common little-kid-angsty complaints. For that matter, someone I paid to read my palm, pull a few runes or fake a temporary possession could figure the answers out and take my money.
