I'm all the way up to my Small Gods book now. It's quite good so far, but the version I have happens to have the
1992 cover on it. It is about the most nineties thing I have ever seen, and combined with my dad digging books out of the garage lately, I've been constantly reminded all day of my childhood.
That is kind of sweet, I suppose, but then I remember how all those things are things I don't and can't have anymore, like the house I grew up in and afternoons in the park where ladies wore tacky-coloured jumpsuits and my only responsibilities were to understand the world around me. It also dawns on me how childish I am, well, which I already know and you probably do too if you ever met ne. But this means I haven't let go of my parents like everyone else my age. I still desperately need them, not for any practical grownup reasons like food or money or living space, but just to be there and pay attention to me and love me and play with me, the same reasons that children desperately need their parents.
And because I am an adult, this reminds me endlessly about how much older than me they are, and always will be.
I hope I stop thinking like this soon. I really don't like it. It's scary and I can't stop crying and there's no way to run away from it because it's me doing the thinking and I want it to stop.