Me, 1993. The suitcase in the corner is a gun case. The blue pad I’m drawing on is one out of a truckload - literally, truthfully, a truckload - which my gun-owner parent invested in, because my drawing paper was rapidly becoming an enormous household expense. This is pretty much all of my childhood; doll houses were boring, I could draw cooler things and make them do anything I wanted them to. There’s christmas cookies and christmas milk on the table. And I just saw: I WAS READING A SWEET VALLEY HIGH BOOK. Good for you, eight year-old self! I wonder if it’s the one in which Jessica is mean but ultimately good at heart and Elisabeth is boring but nice.
