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“Is it supposed to rain today?”

I don’t know, Amy. No clue, Grandma. I’m not sure, Bob. Check the weather, Mr. Jepson. I have no idea, Ari.

I’m curious as to why people spend so much time fixated on the weather. It’s like they have nothing better to think about. Wish I had a head clear enough to ponder weather and give a damn. Then again, I do spend a lot of time with my head in the clouds.

People love me. They think I’m great. I don’t go a day without a compliment in the hallway. Guess I’ve got it all. Beauty queen at 16 with the eloquence of Shakespeare and wicked wit, or so it’s alleged. But, trust me, it ain’t all it’s made out to be.

Glancing up at the portrait of Marilyn Monroe, I guess someone understands. She was beautiful. Blue-eyed blonde with porcelain skin and an hourglass figure that’d stop time. She wasn’t perfect, though. But she just looked so full of love and femininity from her thick hair to her white breasts, draped in diamonds and stalked by cameras.

Underneath it all, she was crazy. She cried for someone to love her and never leave her as she befriended fistfuls of sleeping pills. She was difficult and lonely, no matter what went on around her.

No wonder I keep her picture on my wall.

Sometimes I feel like Cinderella waiting for her happy ending; other times I just feel like shit.

There’s nothing wrong with my life. I get good grades and make money. I just end up with my gaze wandering to the past once again, or ever worse, to the mirror.

Blemish after scar, crooked teeth and tangled hair. And I’m just so, so pale. I can plaster on a smile and light up the room, but, as my mother told me, I “look miserable” after a few minutes.

I have respect and talent and an ample bust. Best of all, I’ve got a beautiful boy who’d do anything for me. When I’m feeling good, it runs through my veins and colors my speech. But when I’m down…baby, I’m down.

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