I feel like I am five years old. Curled up in my Barney blanket, holding my stuffed Barney plushie close to my chest, ready to kick and scream if someone tried to tear us apart. My curly hair, tousled and uncombed, I’m wide awake at five years old. The TV is off, but I stare at it and blink hard, then open my eyes, hoping my magic powers will turn it on. I don’t want to move because if I do, I’ll have to get out of bed, and nothing feels more at home than being in bed, with covers tucked around me and Barney snuggled close to my neck.

I look at the TV and close my eyes really tight and focusing all my energy and focus in trying to turn the tv on with my mind. I open my eyes…

I’m 32. I didn’t ask for this. I wanted the TV on.