Who’s that? That’s the King. Who’s he? The Duke. Who’s she? The Princess. What do they call you? The Count. What does that make me? Umm…how about the Peasant? And the name stuck.

Or maybe...their biggest fear is that they will get close to you again, and you'll go and drop dead.

I’ll probably just stand in a corner, trying not to be noticed, until the decoration committee accidentally packs me into a box at the end of the night. There I will lie, crammed in between rolls of crepe paper, until the New Year’s dance two months from now. Jeffrey thought about this for a moment and said, Won’t they notice the box is too heavy when they go to put it away?

And if there was one thing I'd finally figured out, it was that your mind is something you always CAN change.

I seriously think I could have sat in the middle of the kitchen floor rubbing two sticks together over a pile of dynamite blocks and gasoline cans, and my parents would be oblivious, as long as I was keeping myself occupied.

Did you really JUST fall, Jeffrey? Why does everybody in my family talk in these dramatic CAPITAL LETTERS all the time? Why am I the only calm one?

There are really no guidelines whatsoever, because this is the kind of thing that only happens to ME.