I hate my hair. Like my toenails, it has not been cut in months. Has it been a year? It stands up and knots into a black nest of unclean chaos.
I hate my toenails too. They are long and yellow. One of them is brown. My right foot only has three nails because yesterday I stubbed my foot on a rock and two of them tore off. There was blood and pain. I stare at my toes and hate how they do not match; the two scabbed lumps and the three with long yellow and brown shells extending out over them.
I bring the foot to my mouth and tear the nails away with my teeth. They are strong teeth and the nails rip easily. The toes are bleeding again and there is pain. Only the largest toe is troublesome, but it falls off along with the others and there is blood on my cheek from where the other toes bled onto me.
I look down at my feet now. They do not match so I bring my left foot to my mouth and remove the last five nails. They bleed. It hurts.
Now I am happy with my toes and I remember that I hate my hair too. Some of it is draped over my eyes so I bite at it too, but my teeth are not sharp and are therefore useless to me. I walk to the bathroom. There is a nail file next to the sink and I use it to sharpen my teeth. It does not work well, but they are becoming sharp.
One of the teeth chips and I look into the mirror. I don't like how my teeth do not match so I go to the kitchen. There is a meat tenderizer in one of the drawers and I use it to chip the other teeth. Most of them fall out all together and there is more blood.
I go back to the bathroom mirror to look at my teeth. They match and I am happy. My fingers do not match my toes though. The nails are too long. I go back to the kitchen and find a knife. It is too dull and will not cut the nails so I find a bigger knife. It is a meat cleaver. I raise it above my head and slam it on the counter, missing my nail entirely. The next swing I compensate for the miss and the fingernail is gone. The tip of my finger is also gone and so I cut off the next finger to make it match.
There is more blood and a great deal of pain. I do not like the pain and look at all of my fingers. I decide that they do not have to match. My teeth match though and I love them so I look at my reflection in the kitchen window. There is a crack in the window. The other windows in the house do not match so I break them all. At first I use my hand to break the windows, but it is hard to make a fist with only three fingers so I relocate the meat tenderizer. It breaks the windows much more easily.
There are many windows in the house and it takes me several minutes to break them all. Once they are all broken out I am happy because they match, but then I remember that I do not like my hair. I go back to the kitchen. The knife is still resting on the counter next to the two fingers. I use it to cut the hair away from my eyes and I want to look at it in a mirror, but I broke them too. The hair does not fall into my eyes anymore though so I am happy.
I don't think that the Robinson's will let me stay at their house any more.

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