G's lily, you look like a walking corpse.

Thinks Greg, I say.

Jamal smacks Greg.

I don't really blame Greg for thinking so though, because I certainly feel like one.

Probably because I didn't get any sleep last night, or the night before.

In fact, the past three nights have been about waiting for the thing in my closet to come

out and kill me.

It's hard to close your eyes when there's something in your closet that might want to kill you.

Saturday, I spent outside in the front yard drawing in the dirt with a stick.

Fun, I know.

I'd go around back and play in the woods, but my dad has some secret project he's working on in the backyard

and told me I'm not allowed to go back there until it's done.

I'm not even allowed to look out the windows to peek.

He says, if I see it, he'll just stop working on it, and I mean it.

He really does mean it.

He's not like one of those dads who says he's going to do something if you don't do what you're told,

and then you don't do what you're told, and he just talks his way around doing the thing he said he was going to do.

I know kids who have dads like that.

They're all spoiled.

Probably because they know that even if they do the thing they're not supposed to,

they won't get in real trouble for it.

He's a Welch.

...