Re-vision, last night, yet another, "Carrie - The eye of Satan", De Palma, perhaps my favorite movie, definitely the only horror that makes me eyes dripping juice in large quantities, since the scene of the gym at first. She frightened by her first menstruation, which collapses in the shower, target launches tampax companions that scream, "Put the cap."
difficult to express so well the pain and wonder caused by the transition to adulthood. The rotten blueberry jam that materialized on my panties at the beginning of middle school made me cry for a week, despite my mother had prepared for the impending menarche, that fetid blood between her thighs was an unequivocal sign of a loss, I felt victim of a scam, I was curled up days, the synthetic leather of the sofa made slippery by tears, while the aunts paraded to congratulate me, I felt my mother on the phone and his triumphant announcements that I could not register as a sadistic rage. Relatives gathered, with gifts and sweets to celebrate, because I was, as they say in the South, "became a lady." I gladly cakes and bouquets of flowers that are deafened by the screeching when the bones are getting longer, with the stubborn about me, "Miss" as they wished, there would never have been. I still hold faith in that regard.
I have in common with Carrie also a seamstress mother, in unwillingness to play volleyball, and until a few months ago, a bedroom in the attic where brooding malice. Nothing telekinesis to me, unfortunately, but a strong aptitude for revenge that compensates for the lack of psychic powers.
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