in which i try to explain a few things

"Okay," she sighed glumly as she trudged up the steps.

I've had internal narrators for as long as I can remember. They've always spoken English. It's kind of like living in my own cooking show. I think there's some theory about how most children from immigrant families see themselves as natural interpreters, not just of a language, but often of the entire immigrant experience. I'm not sure if a related theory exists about the intricate and self-aware monologues of these children. Maybe not all of us have rich inner lives full of constant self-scrutiny.

You see where this is going, right? I don't just interpret the experience for others. My brain is on a constant and thorough mission to synthesize and analyze the experience for...itself?

Anyway, most of this shit is in my wiring and inside of me and I can't understand "the experience" of growing up in my family, or moving around all the time, or ending up in Appalachia over and over again, or not relating to my Colombian family, so most of the time I just identify how I feel and tell people stories about other times I've felt that way.

So, I think I'm gonna try to write some of these stories down. I think some of them are actually pretty good stories, and I think in the context of my new ridiculous life here in Madison County, they are even more absurd and therefore awesomer.

Hmmph.