I'm three, and I'm on the swingset in the park across the street from our old house. We lived on the shore of Lake Ontario - you could see the water from my bedroom window. I remember it was a grey day. I think I only remember grey days, when there's no sun, because those are always good days for me. Anyway, I'm swinging, higher and higher and higher, terrified of going right over the top but trying my hardest to do it anyway. I can remember the wind puffing out my unzipped jacket behind me like a superhero's cape and the cold of the chains in my fists. I never wanted to get off that swing. I think the rest of my life I've been on that swing, working hard to get somewhere or something or someone, but petrified of actually managing to succeed.