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I know we started at St. B's. So, I'm thinking it was September, 1968.We moved in the winter time. I recall seeing big chunks of ice in the river when we visited Buffalo.I really liked my friends in Springfield and recall asking my teacher if there was any way to get a list of students?I would check with them first, so that I could write to them after we were gone.At that time there were no crazy constraints and I was given a typed sheet with names and addresses and phone numbers.I added some from the local neighborhood and knew I could write to any of these friends once settled in Buffalo.It was early in 1969. I had turned 10. We moved and there was no Saint anything school for us to attend.I remember it was a public school. The teaching methods were totally different.And where we had just started in on sentence structure at my old school, this school was way ahead in the book.I know I never did quite catch on to all the verb structures and nouns and predicates.Wow! I might have. It’s all Social Science for Retards. **** I look at myself in the mirror. Do I like what I see? Oddly, yes. It’s sickening to admit, but sometimes I’m a bit entranced with myself. It’s ridiculous, no one else is. I’m a solipsist, yes. But why not? Is anyone else falling over their heels to love me? I’m a bit of a munchkin. I’m too short, I suppose. But I really do love the face I have. It’s round, pale, innocent. I wear heavy glasses, I have little piggy eyes. It’s a 19th Century face, Victorian, not the perky, fake, plastic face the world wants you to wear today, a face so frozen it’s not even capable of a sneer, let alone a sincere smile. And you think I’m hateful, but really, I know how to smile. I like to, if you’re special. I say mine’s a Victorian face: but post-modern too. I’ve got a labret piercing, the smooth round ball setting my mouth off like an exclamation point, neat, steely, decisive. And a pierced eyebrow, a steel banana bell in my right brow, to set off my sarcastic.
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