Cosmology and her Stars

xvi. the smith's

3rd September 2029

Dear Universe,

Day three in the month that is September and so far Tatty has licked my ear, burnt her own hair off as 'a sacrifice for Hubert's God' (Hubert is her toy unicorn) and crafted a crayon mural in the hallway. The thing is, for some reason her behaviour ranges from sugar-crazed-four-year-old to absolutely-sloshed-twenty-one-year-old. She's nine. Like, the Smith's (that's my last name - I know, Cosmology Smith. Shut up.) are weird; we all (excluding Tatty) smoke pot - often naked - in our garden for the following reasons: bored, new moon, eclipse, Sunday, holiday, teacher's day. We have weird names (excluding my parents, although in reality they should have weird names over someone like... Orion. He's pretty normal all things considered) and we let our kids run wild. If they want too, which often they don't.

I mean, I understand why Tatty is so weird... it's because mum smoked pot when she was pregnant. She smoked pot when she was preggers with us all, but with Tatty.... a lot of pot. It was around the time dad decided to become a part-time pot-dealer on the side, for more money.

He works in construction most of the time (a builder, in simple terms), but after I was born money slowly became tighter and then we all found out Tatty was on the way and mum was already stocked with work at the shop, so he started growing his own plants and now it's almost half our income.

Yeah, I don't care what you think. It's not like it's illegal here, just frowned upon, like masturbating on an aeroplane. Sorry, I stole that from a twenty year old movie called The Hangover, we watched it last night to pass the time; I really love old movies.

Okay. Bye,

Cosmo