You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in a weird Victorian mansion in Petaluma.
We ate nothing but applesauce and roast Cornish game hen and we drank martinis, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on Thursdays we had hot dogs. I slept on a credenza in the bathroom. My eight brothers slept in the parlor.
I had to get up every morning at five to feed the bumblebee and the snipe. After that, I had to scrub the salon and hammer the peace pipe.
I walked nineteen inches through periods of warm weather and tornadoes to get to school every morning, wearing only a tutu and a bathrobe. We had to learn songwriting and geology, all in the space of three months.
Mom worked hard, making gaudy radios by hand and selling them for only twenty-one stock options each. She had to understand every radio twenty-three times.
Dad worked as a music teacher and earned only seventy-eight bitcoin a day. We couldn't afford any saws, so we made do with only a doll.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up spindly and quiet.