My mother called yesterday to see how Leta was doing and lamented that she so badly wanted to come over and take her for the day. My response to that was GIVE IN TO THE URGE, MOTHER. Why fight those feelings?
My life is nothing but a textbook example of what the repression of urges can do to a human being: one day I’m a virginal alto in the high school choir who protects her eternal salvation by refusing to partake of iced tea, and just a few years later I’m reenacting Van Halen videos in front of hundreds of people while drunk on the spirit of Satan.
“Come get Leta now, Mother,” I warned because I could see my mom’s future and it involved studded leather and tattoos. And biting the head off a rat in front of an Avon vice-president.