I have been shot. And boy does it hurt.
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I have been shot. And boy does it hurt.
you wanna hear a secret?
i've been robin before. swapped out for a night or two.
i will never say when, where or who mostly because dad and dick would each have a cardiac event.
the plushies are out of order.
someone moved my plushies.
Someone. Touched. My Plushies.
I really hope the person who shot me knows I forgive him.
oh sure, the jerk in my math class can pull my hair every day in class for three months and the teacher is like 'oh, he must have a crush on you!'
but when I, the autistic teenage girl whose been having clumps of hair pulled out of her head, bite the hand pulling my hair, suddenly violence is a problem and not a goddamn marriage proposal.
in conclusion, frick you mrs. [REDACTED]. may you step on a lego every morning, spill every latte you drink and have every holiday meal upstaged by your mother in law.
"But Dick can't be your mother!"
I still send him a Mother's Day card every year.
i just think it's important to know if you're bigger and taller than me, you have carte blanche to pick me up.
any place. any time. i always want uppies.
Alright time to decide which of my independent older siblings' couch I'm going to crash on.
The manor is once again loud, chaotic and overstimulating.
I'm tired.