On a Sunday Afternoon

Technically it’s not afternoon yet, but I am a writer so I am familiar with lying. Just kidding. I’m familiar with lying because I’m a liar.

Writing is hard. I am sure nobody has ever said that before. Because I am a writer I try to avoid being cliche (sorry I can’t figure out where to find accent marks) and/or stealing other people’s words or ideas.

Before I can move forward in this current book, which is about drugs and emotional numbing, which a thing I am very NOT familiar with (the emotional numbing, I mean. Not familiar. But also drugs. I am not familiar with drugs. Except for that one period in time when I used to save Percocet for a rainy day and by rainy day I mean cramps), I have to decide if the sister lives or dies and I realized that in my last book there is a dead sister and why is this a theme for me?

I am pretty sure it has to do with the fact that I am 99% convinced that I am a twin and my mother refuses to tell me the truth about it. I’ve asked her multiple times. But here’s the thing – other than the fact I’m not totally convinced she’s not out there somewhere – I have a friend who is a twin and she was born a year before me and her mom didn’t know. She was having her baby and then they were like, “surprise, there’s another one!” So maybe my mother didn’t give birth to two babies, but maybe at some point there WERE two babies and I ate the other one in the womb. This would absolutely set the precedent by which I have lived the rest of my life out of the womb. Emotional eating. Maybe there was some trauma and I was like, “I know, I will just eat my twin.”

This may also by why I’m a little obsessed with cannibalism? Also a thing I am not entirely convinced didn’t happen in my family, as my grandmother was in the Ukraine during the famine and I read an article in the New York Times about a family who sent their daughter off to dinner at another home where they were having “something special” and the “something special” ended up being the daughter. They found her clothes in the woods near the village and my grandmother lived in a village near the woods. I’ve talked about this before, but it’s just because I think about it so much. It also entirely possible that they didn’t actually eat the daughter but just brutally murdered her.

I think I’m gonna let the sister live.

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