Strangers

“Never Talk to Strangers.”  Everything I remember about this book I had when I was two or three:  The Easter Bunny isn’t a stranger because everyone knows him.

My dad picks up hitchhikers.  At least once, when I was two or three, my carseat was put in the trunk to make room.  

Bad advise and inconsistency.  My childhood.

Envy

I’m not particularly envious.

Exceptions:  People who are confident and yards with nice grass.

Chapters

‚ÄčI have some journals, mostly from a pretty dark time.  

I’m afraid to read them.  

I don’t want to throw them away in case I want to read them in the future.

I want to throw them away so no one can read them if I die.

Dying unexpectedly is the scariest part of dying.