wow lovely

I write this a while ago. Then I found it. Don't you love it when that happens?

When I grow up I want lots of children. They will have ringlets and shiny patent leather shoes and they will play with Marissa’s cats. Marissa will have fluffy cats. Who are all declawed. I want to live somewhere beautiful, that looks like country, but isn’t because the city’s right there. My name is Alexandra. A lot of people call me Ace. I don’t know why. Well, I do know why, but it’s a shit story so I'm not gonna tell it. One day I'm going to make up a story about how I got my nickname and tell everybody. You’ll be the first to know.

My moms kind of like a gypsy. She wears long skirts that jingle, and ties her hair up with butterfly shaped clips. And she’s always dancing. Well that’s what she does. She’s a dancer. I dance too, but I do not want to be a dancer when I grow up. We move around a lot, me and my mom. We always have. I've never lived in the same place for more than 5 years. This is the longest time I’ve been anywhere. It’s my 5^th year. Sometimes I'm scared we’re jinxed. And something tells me I might not be here next year.

The items I would grab if my house was on fire would be…

1. My computer

2. My dog Lola, even though she’d probably make me regret it. (I'm just kidding)

3. My phone, so I could call the fire department and tell them my house was on fire, and then sue them if they didn’t save everything I had to leave behind. Then with the money I win from the lawsuit I can buy all my important stuff…except not really. Like photo albums, journals, and my stuffed animals. Those are the things that really matter. Not anything I could buy back. But having the money would probably make me feel a little bit better about losing everything.

That’s a terrible situation to think about. Losing everything. I hate losing things. But I suppose I'm not very original in that ideology. Most of my friends are people who have lost things. Not stupid things like a homework assignment or their appetite. But like, things that will still matter to them 50 years from now. Their father, their independence, their freedom, their virginity. But everybody has a sob story. What I'm trying to point out is that I seem to be attracted to people who have lost something meaningful, or something I perceive as meaningful. But people who don’t flaunt their loss. People who hide it. I don’t know how I got into this subject. But I’ll end this now. Is this supposed to be an autobiography or something? If so, I hope you’ve learned something about me. I didn’t really follow the instructions. But really, what’s the fun in that?