You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in a petite chapel in Baton Rouge.
We ate nothing but borscht and blueberry pie and we drank glasses of grape juice, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on Sundays we had pot roast. I slept on a canopy bed in the workshop. My four brothers slept in the nursery.
I had to get up every morning at four to feed the polecat and the chipmunk. After that, I had to scrub the library and kill the cigarette.
I walked thirty-one light years through blankets of mist and hot, sunny days to get to school every morning, wearing only a bra and a pair of socks. We had to learn agriculture and geology, all in the space of three minutes.
Mom worked hard, making tiny business cards by hand and selling them for only thirteen francs each. She had to neglect every business card two times.
Dad worked as an auto mechanic and earned only thirty shillings a day. We couldn't afford any campaign signs, so we made do with only a floppy disk.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up melancholic and paranoid.