It thought about why it couldn’t sleep.

It took out Paul’s iPhone so it could write Paul’s thoughts.

It remembered the almost fluorescent red color of Elliot’s tonsils when the doctor saw him on Friday.

It wondered how long it would take the antibiotics to make him feel better.

It wondered why Paul didn’t take Elliot to the doctor on Monday.

It accused Paul of being a bad dad.

It thought about Mom.

It though about Paul’s visit on Saturday. About Paul, Mom, and Vince. About how Vince tried to get her to speak Italian. About how he said to her, “Luigia, say ‘Paul is my son.'” It thought how funny Mom’s reply was. About when she shook her head. “No he’s not, he’s my son.”

It felt relieved that Edison and friends were safe in Bree’s apartment at UCLA after a day at Camp Flog Gnaw.

It wondered if Paul was a bad dad for letting Edison go to a thing called Camp Flog Gnaw.

It thought about how raising teenagers is hard.

It thought about what President Obama said about ISIS the day before the massacre in Paris. “ISIS is contained.”

It knew President Obama was regretting those words.

It thought about how Paul wasn’t a big fan of George W. Bush, but how “W” would be kicking the shit out of ISIS by now.

It wondered why darkness is scarier than daytime, and how the scariness proves we all want to see what’s coming in life.

It thought about how we never really know what’s coming in life.

It thought about The House On Mango Street.

It wondered if the gluten free diet will soon be replaced with another diet.

It thought about why it still wouldn’t sleep.