The happy place

at daycare when I was seven or thereabouts, I took a toy airplane with thin styrofoam wings and I broke them into pieces just because I wanted to feel them snap and crumble in my hands.

The childminder lady who was the mother of the child who owned that airplane didn’t like that. She got angry.

I don’t like being yelled at.

It couldn’t explain myself.

Once when I was at school at art school and I was a vegetarian, a weird girl who I used to be friends with who lived with her weirdly old father far away in the middle of nowhere, she spat on my food. It was pancakes. For class she once drew a big picture of an angel and a devil coupling “doggy style” (erotic), she wore dr. Martens and we were friends until we weren’t and she spat on my pancakes.

I shall try to remember more about this and for example what lead up to the incident with the spittle pancakes.