When we were young

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I loved to laugh.
I wanted to make everyone laugh because it felt like the safest, most honest place—a home I create for myself and my friends.

What a person laughs at is who they are inside; it’s revealing because laughter is so unassuming, the truth of a person just slips right out.

I always wanted to laugh and entertain. I always wanted to make the joy and chase it, push its limits.
I hated math.
I loved passing notes, especially in Mrs. Mercer's class because that's where the cubbies were. I loved that I came up with the most conspicuous method of note-passing that involved crinkly brown lunch bags placed squarely in the center of our cubbies--just above the laminated note cards with our actual names on them--and pen names to avoid being identified.

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I watched Now & Then and The Sandlot and Cool Runnings eleventeen trillion times a piece.
I loved playing board games like Mall Madness and 13 Dead End Drive.
I loved Barbies. I would spend hours in The Barbie Closet, which I would describe to strangers as "an entire room for all of my Barbie stuff" but was, in reality, "an actual closet that my sister and I used as the home for our Barbie world because our Mom was exhausted by the amount of Barbie shit we had and the fact that we would leave it absolutely everywhere and take over the entire house."


I bragged a lot. I wanted to have the most and be the most.
I was the first to wake up at every sleepover. Related: I loved pranks. I totally mean to brag: I've frozen, like, a lot of bras.

I loved the idea of creating and crafting, but in execution, it was always a disaster and I would abandon a sock puppet ten seconds after the hot glue gun reached the approximate temperature of the actual sun.

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I lived for the high of an idea; I never followed through.
I would collect so many of them that most would lose their shine and appeal before I even held one in my hands. 

I hated sharing.
I couldn't keep a secret.
I couldn't stay mad.
I loved my friends more than I loved myself.

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