Crickets chirp in the dead of the August night,  "Listen, listen, listen to us!"

I start to tear up, throat closing around pain, but I am not suffering.

My chihuahua yaps at shadows at one in the morning, and I am still a long way off from sleep.

As much as I want to text Cara, I refuse and tell myself "Go to sleep!"

Five months ago, she reached out to me when the roommate from Hell got the best of her.

I would awaken the following morning to read, "Are you there?"

"Can I use your microwave? I have the munchies."

"Okay, I understand. You're asleep. Sorry I'm bothering you."

I'll be right over, I want to say. I can be the friend who stays for once.

But wait, she's five hundred miles away from here. So is he...

"Good morning, sleepyhead! How's my boo thang?" I toss the phone aside.

Silly girl, stop moping around like a fucking idiot and get a REAL job. He has one!

"Don't be so hard on yourself! You're so beautiful AND smart, why can't that be enough?"

Because America, that's why. I want to beat the system.  

Oh great, another nosebleed. It isn't even December- it's hot and muggy outside!!

Anxiety is a funny thing, you know.  Even though higher education opens doors I have never seen before, I feel more confined and hesitant than yesterday. 

"You're an Aspie, an Aspie!" And you're the Queen of England.

A walking contradiction, another blade of grass. It would be so easy to get lost.  

But I can't afford to be lost!  I need to make Ma proud, make Pa see that his child-rearing efforts weren't in vain.  And he's waiting for me, five hundred miles from here, just out of reach.

Can I call the university and tell them I need my degree now? No, that's projecting too far ahead.

Why am I a klutz?  What a spaz. I drop jars all the time and beat pillows against the wall.  At least birth control makes me appear human; at least I have composure.

You have no broken bones, be thankful. Be thankful for what you have, and where you are, and who you are.  Be thankful that I stopped beating you when I joined Program.

What makes a man, and what makes a monster? Why are Hugo-inspired movies so fantastic?

I am not a victim by any means. I don't like labels; I avoid wearing them, being them.  My service fraternity doesn't count. Even you can tell that I'm not completely deviant.

Instability, now that you've seen a mite of it, does look rather lovely from a distance.

Would you like to try?  Not weed, dipwad.  You're done, I've said too much already.