"Kid, I feel for your situation, but I'm called Grammar Nazi for a reason. Call Mama Pancake. She has a thing for stories like yours."

I passed along her public number and hung up, throwing up as the urge to correct The Illiterate Kid swelled up without an outlet.

It hurts...it hurts so much. He was my Nemesis, and his rambling always got the better of me. Using they, them when referring to everyone had started as a ploy, but I always figured there was more to it. Not that I could help him, given who and what I was. Did he really think after all that I was the one he should reach out to?

Probably, but then he was a tool. Also, pretty sure his dog was a robot built by his dad's company. Bit of a drama queen, getting upset by a tomagachi with extra steps.

No matter as Pancake would sort him out. She was far more than just bulging muscle.

Once everything was out, I cleaned up and drank some water before sitting down in a meditative pose. It was important to review any poor grammar during stressful conversations and forgive myself. Mental health is important. Besides, my doctor said she was proud of my progress, and that gave me joy.

For a moment I considered a foreign idea...and why not? Kid was under stress as well and shooting him with deadly invective didn't seem called for.

I sighed for myself only a few times before starting the breathing exercises...