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we’ll talk,” thebottom line is, the kid doesn’t talk, and I want him to, because I’d like to see what he says when he doesn’t edit. I want to see if it’s beautiful, because right now I don’t know.
    Or we could . . . use our mouths for other things, is I guess what I’m trying to say. I mean, if that’s easier for him. Or if it’s even possible for me, in my current state of eunuch.
    God, I’m so tired, and I don’t know what I want, which is probably why kissing seems like the best option, but it sounds like he doesn’t even want to kiss me anymore, so now I don’t even know. I should go to sleep, I guess.
    I check the kennels and the beds again and again, and I pet Caramel for ages until he starts to get really annoyed with me. I should sleep.
    That’s my part of me that’s “a little fucked up,” I guess. If we can divide ourselves up that way. I have Cody and the fact that I don’t sleep. And the animals, though I guess they’re all connected or some shit like that. God, I should go to therapy with Lio. I bet she’d have a field day between the two of us. And then we’d get better, because I guess that’s the point of therapy, and then what? And what happens when you don’t get better? I know the answer to that and it’s not something I want to happen to me. Or Lio. Although I guess he probably knows more than I do about not getting better, but the more I get to know Lio, the more I learn that you can’t usecancer as a metaphor for real life.
    I flop down on my couch and turn on the TV. Sandwich walks in a circle on my back like a dog before she settles down. I hear my parents walking around upstairs, shutting off the lights and double-checking all the locks on the doors before they go to bed. The windows are already fixed, because it’s not safe to have all that broken glass around when there are animals.
    I can hear my brother getting ready for the suicide hotline job. He likes it, even though the pay is shitty and it’s about people killing themselves. He says he likes to help. My family is all full of beautiful people who care about everyone they don’t know, and then we can’t even get along most of the time. I think it’s gotten to the extent that, if we were going to kill ourselves, none of us would think to call my brother for help first, and isn’t that just the most pathetic thing in the whole world?
    The man on the TV talks about a big jigsaw puzzle I can buy for four payments of something—no, three payments of something, special TV offer, I need to call right now. I don’t even have a phone with me. I am a waste of his infomercial. There’s no way he could make money off of me, and I feel really guilty about that.
    Also, I sort of don’t understand TV, in that way. Why do ratings matter? Do people get money when I watch their show? What about when I turn a show off in the middle? I guess I’mnot part of that eighteen-to-thirty-five age group, or whatever it is everyone gives a shit about, so it probably doesn’t matter. I barely matter, if you’re looking at numbers—what’s a fifteen-year-old? I can’t even drive. And I’m six months younger than Lio.
    I don’t feel six months younger than Lio. I mean, I can deal with my life and stuff. And I’ve had a boyfriend and Lio hasn’t, as far as I know. Or a girlfriend. So really, I’m older in a lot of ways.
    I should sleep. It’s been quiet upstairs for ages. I was a wreck in school today. Nearly started crying in algebra just because I couldn’t figure out the next step in this proof, which is really unacceptable behavior. I was falling asleep all through history, and now I’m awake like someone’s electroshocked me.
    Cody was older than me too. Nearly a year. Cody Cody Cody. Why didn’t I get an email from him tonight? Usually he emails every night. Every single night, around nine o’clock. And I respond faster than I can breathe.
    He didn’t email tonight, for the first time since he’s been gone.