Twisting... tight... twine... what?

This doll is terrifying!

Her soul wreaks of stale cigarettes and burning magazines...

She's awkwardly balanced on metal rings - like she could fall over at any second...

Nasty!

I'm seriously scared of her.

This isn't working... I need to talk to someone. Like, a person!

I'm supposed to meet Jamie today -- not like she'll understand me, but whatever.

I can try to talk to him...

Look at this ugly doll!

Her wheels churn but nothing happens... these bobby pins are greasy, these rhinestones so insincere...

I feel like I just reached into myself and pulled out a monster.

Wait a second... hold on...

Monster, who are you?

"I am the churning wheels of your pointless agony."

Um... what?

"I am the churning wheels of your pointless agony."

No, I heard you -- but... what does that mean? Who are you? What are you doing here?

Hello?

I hear music... a faint violin... Oh! Oh, I see. The "sad violins" -- are you calling me dramatic?

"Would you deny it?"

No. I suppose not.

Tell me more about you. Why do you smell like stale cigarettes?

"Because your dreams are stale, your desires lonely. You're all ambition and no friendship. The quest for self is a lonely road if it's the only road you're on."

I don't understand... I've spent hours and hours this summer writing about how I want a boyfriend -- or a girlfriend, I guess - I'm not trying to be alone -

"You want a mirror. A lapdog to adore you and make you look good."

What! That's so rude!

"You're rude. You don't love Jamie -- or Reggie, for that matter. You only love yourself -- even your self-hatred is a perverted mirror for your insecurities and endless need for attention."

Ouch. You're, like, really mean.

"I'm the externalization of your tangled dreams and inner critics -- did you expect me to be nice?"

Ok... well... what should I do? Should I go to Ghana with Reggie, or not, because...

"It doesn't matter."

What!?

"It doesn't matter."

No, I heard you -- I mean... what do you mean, "It doesn't matter"?

"It means: It does not matter."

Uuuuuuuuuuuughghghghghhhhhhhh!!!!!

WHY doesn't it matter?

"Because you are searching for something inside yourself. You want a sense of home and belonging, and you want to be proud of your racial identity."

"No one would fault you -- it's hard to be Black in America right now."

"So, if you want to go to Africa -- go."

"If you want to stay here -- stay."

"It doesn't matter."

You're not helping me at all.

"There you go, complaining again. If you want a helper, make a helper doll and talk to her!"

No, please... I'm talking to you. What should I do?

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Just make a choice -- and know that the inner quest continues, no matter what you decide to do."

"Call Mr. Peterson. Or make another doll. Or go talk to Jamie."

"You're not a child, Aliza. You can make decisions."