I try not to think of my childhood. Much in the way you shun shameful conversations from that one party, I efface my entire early life. It’s not that some terrible abuse occurred, or that things have been repressed; in fact, I had a very okay upbringing. It wasn’t that bad. Back then, I was obsessed with objects, toys they couldn’t leave me. I suffer from a disease common to the lonely: crippling logorrhea. I was, am, a talker. These poor…