6

I do not know who I am what I am or where we are.

This is a lot of not knowing and it’s incredibly disconcerting and let me tell you that this is why I don’t usually drink. And I don’t usually do what we did. But last time I did and we did and I think it was fun but I don’t really remember.

So the where we are is actually a legitimate concern. That’s actually something I do not know. It’s someone’s house. Probably yours. Hopefully yours.

But the who I am or what I am is something more of a personality crisis. Maybe an identity crisis. Because like I said, this is not me.



I was never expecting to be the kind of girl who could be sent over the edge by the combination of bad news and a pretty face replacing yours. I mean, okay. So my dad died. And so my mom has this freaky surrogate daughter in my place.

My cousin.

And maybe I’ve never really been the ideal daughter type. Maybe sometimes I’ve been just a little too focused and just a little too intense and just a little too dissimilar. But I always figured that my mom understood that I was what I was and that there was nothing I could do to change that.

But I guess she never did. And so she turned to Carrie Anne.

Here’s a question: what asshole names their daughter Carrie Anne? It’s just that kind of pretentious bullshittery that makes me hate my Aunt Mel. Like, seriously. I mean, I go to fucking Princeton of all places, where you except pretentious bullshittery to thrive like a fucking hoard of bees in a honey field.

But no.

Instead, I’m here with normal people, and so unused to this and so the news that I’ve been replaced like an old sock comes like twin punches to the stomach and they hurt like fuck and Jesus Christ, my mother didn’t even let me know my dad was dead until after my cousin moved in and made all the funeral arrangements.

I would have liked to make some of the arrangements for my own dad. My dad was always the one who encouraged me to get stuff done, to do what I had to do to get where I wanted to be, which was here, and now and it was all great.

But I guess my dad was too much like me. He was too much like me and that ended up with him being felled by a heart attack. I didn’t want that future for myself, but at least I didn’t eat a steak every day, with all the fat and trimmings. My drive led me to be something more of a health nut.

But really. My mother couldn’t even include me in the funeral plans. She didn’t even let me speak. I just dropped a handful of dirt on the casket and got shitface drunk. Which maybe is too much information for a stranger. But I figure you’re not a stranger anymore, are you?

“Hey, I’m Dan.”

“Alice.”