She can't sleep.
So, my little girl turns out to be as anxiety-prone as the both of her parents. No surprises here; I was Boy Binkley from the age of about 11 through 30, full of the panic and terror that only funky genes, funny neurotransmitters, and too much time on one's mind can provide. But-- she's starting early. She's only 9, and already, every night begins to panic as her mind spins out imaginary consequences from every little thing she's seen that day, or as she obsesses over every uncomfortable moment in her day.
Until recently, she hated taking baths-- they were so long, they cut into her sliver of nightly playtime too much, and she took to showering to get it over with. Well, she gave that up, emphatically. Baths only. Like anyone raised in the 60s who watched Lila Crane get slaughtered in black-and-white, she can no longer stomach the frightening risk of showering. Why? This-- this is the sole reason why:
An ill-advised viewing of Rockwell on Youtube. When Rockwell is in the showah, he's afraid to wash his hyaih, for fear of finding someone standing thyeah. And so is she, now. Curse you, Rockwell. Curse you and your foppish mid-atlantic taradiddle.
Until recently, she hated taking baths-- they were so long, they cut into her sliver of nightly playtime too much, and she took to showering to get it over with. Well, she gave that up, emphatically. Baths only. Like anyone raised in the 60s who watched Lila Crane get slaughtered in black-and-white, she can no longer stomach the frightening risk of showering. Why? This-- this is the sole reason why:
Click to viewAn ill-advised viewing of Rockwell on Youtube. When Rockwell is in the showah, he's afraid to wash his hyaih, for fear of finding someone standing thyeah. And so is she, now. Curse you, Rockwell. Curse you and your foppish mid-atlantic taradiddle.