Snap Studios. Last night, night before, 24 robbers through my door.

I got up, called a friend, now they won't be seen again.

Oh, yes.

Ha ha ha ha ha ha. You're listening to food.

Stay tuned. From KQED and PRX you've crossed over to spoot. I have a built-in extended family therapy group for processing the demons that we

experienced as children. It's called my cousins because especially for me there are two I'm particularly close to and I don't know what I would do without them.

Where I just don't have to explain the craziness. I can vent at full speed at full volume. the Or what you tax just claim they do that for?

Does every one of us be locked in a padded room?

My cousins will listen.

They'll shake their head with me, they'll commiserate with me,

and just that, the listening, understanding, though it doesn't fix everything

and make it better, it kind of fixes things.

Makes it feel better.

And I'm lucky to have my cousins to help me navigate this family minefield of nine rockets,

explosive aunties and uncles, which are countless offspring.

Every one of us, loud, shouting to be heard above the rest.

And recently, my sister did one of those DNA tests, and it listed.

Several first cousins were related to that, of course, I know.

I know well.

I know better than they know themselves, but then it starts, list the names I've never heard of before.

First cousins, I don't know. First Cousins we never saw?

Who did it?

...