Enjoying the perpetual terror of an infant faced with a horrible planet full of abominations

Its true. The infant is perpetually horrified at this big vast ocean of a place. It is the sort of world where a ceiling bulb can become god, the sublime strains of Bathory played for an infant twenty nine hours out of the womb, but sung to her the night before to keep the noise of a strange place constant with that cramped paradise that came before. How much of it do you still remember, Ruby? You do that thing with your mouth that you must have done in the womb, though less and less as the time goes on. How much do you dream of it nowadays, a week out of the place? Is it like visiting a strange country where a person dreams of home for the first few days, but then, home is the illusion of memory and here is whatever new place has imposed itself upon a person. You rule my life yet you are driven by impuse.....a clock, a creature not in touch yet with its own physiological needs. This charming selfish personality of yours will vanish like a coat of primer under a finish, but it will still be there for the rest of your life keeping you alive on your own.