The 6 year old living inside my chest is stamping her feet impatiently.

And this is what she's saying:
"Don't look at me, don't talk to me, definitely don't contact me via a digital or non-digital medium and don't think about me. Ever. Your thoughts go into the cosmos and effect my thoughts so stop it. You're causing me to become distracted: I've stubbed my toe, fallen of my bike for no apparent reason while dismounting, and clipped the side view mirror of a car while riding and fallen off my bike in traffic. I can't handle not having you on my terms. You drew a line in the sand and even though you still share your time with me it's not enough. I wish I could get you to like me more but since I can't I hid your passport under a pile of your folded shirts, I hid your condoms in your magazine rack and I stole $3 worth of quarters from your coin bucket. Fuck you, I'm gonna go do my laundry."