Journal Excerpt

I am molting. That seems to be the best way of describing the way my hair is falling out in clumps. I’m worse than the cats in winter. My hair litters the floor after I blow-dry; it lines Ellie’s fists. For the first time in my life, my hair feels relatively thin. Just when the rest of my body had gone back to normal. Will the hormonal changes never end?

E is blowing little fish-egg bubbles all the time now. Her doctor says this foaming at the mouth is her way of attempting to speak. I’m molting; she’s rabid. It’s a jungle world out here.