Little Addict Annie

I don’t have to live in the house with dysfunction anymore. I don’t dial its phone number. I don’t go to that address. It is a slow process to shed what you think you loathe. So I have my secret stashes like any true addict. A trip to Wal-Mart for great prices and intense verbal and physical abuse in most aisles and my only protection is a rickety cart. Maybe that big yellow smiley face is a distant, vacant relative.

Deep down I am like little orphan Annie still imagining my real family waiting patiently for me. Except I know now that even if someone has great taste in books or art they can still suck at lots of other things because it’s our right as human beings.