We're entering...

...Grey Gardens..."

That's the only thing I can ever hear when my aunt recollects on the past. It's trapping her. Driving her insane. Today she was harping on about how my mom made her a dress when she was like 9 or so, and how it shrank, and how sad it made her. Then she spent another 10 minutes talking about how she was sad when she realized she wasn't going to be a midget. Apparently she had a huge irrational fear of becoming one, so in true family fashion, she researched it. 

I fear becoming this.
I fear it every day.

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