I sometimes wonder if it's just me, or if there are other women who figure out where they're supposed to be by going nowhere.

I find myself staring at the goldfish. Bright as a penny, he swims in circles, happy to be going nowhere.

For the first time in my life I begin to understand how a parent my hit a child--it's because you can look into their eyes and see a reflection of yourself that you wish you hadn't.

I pick up a pen and start to unscrew the whole thing, pull out the skinny little tube of blue ink. It would be so cool to have one of these built inside you, like a squid; you could point your finger and leave your mark on anything you wanted.

Don't say it. Don't say nobody's going to stare at me, because they will. Don't tell me it doesn't matter because it does. And don't tell me I look fine because that's a lie. I'm a freak, Mom. Look at me.

With my heart racing, I ran in the other direction; leaving the rest of this rescue to people who actually want to be heroes.