That Was Eight

    When I was eight years old, I started cracking my knuckles. I can’t remember who taught me, or why I thought it was a good idea, but once I started, I couldn’t stop. When I was eight years old, I got the world’s worst. Freaking. Perm. Ever. It was hideous. I also...

I Want to be a Writer When I Grow Up

When I was little, I was always writing stories in my head. I would awkwardly blurt out evidence of this when talking to real-life people. One day when my mom hung up the phone I asked her, “Who were you talking to? she demanded.” I actually said she...