But it’s been too much. Too many castings, photo-shoots, hours in hair and makeup, and way too many bitchy Mail articles. All of it has left no time...for me to be me. I’m not even sure who Lana Kent is anymore. The version of myself I recall is still trying to remember her locker code at junior high.Young. Innocent. Despite my height, I’d felt invisible at school. A giraffe. A freak. The insults stopped when I signed with IMG or maybe I just wasn’t around to hear them. Life changed. Colorado. "Hey, sexy," I said, happy to see her smiling face on the screen. "How's my love today?" Happy to see you, frustrated to only see you," she said. Despite her smile, I could hear tension in her voice."It's going to be a late night for you, isn't it?" Yeah. We had a major failure today in one of my systems, and I can't leave until the team does." She looked up past her phone. "One sec," she said to me. Turning back to the other person, she said, "I don't give a shit what Larry's memo said about. They make enough sausage for the year, taking close to fifty pounds each. They drink wine. There is bread and cheese and olives and plenty of sopressata for sandwiches. Christmas Eve is meatless with us and we hold with the tradition of the feast of the seven fishes. After Midnight Mass, it is officially Christmas,’ Marie said, smiling, ‘Mom will fry one piece and Dad would cut it in three pieces for us to share before bedtime.’ ‘That is a lovely tradition, my love,’ I said squeezing Marie’s. “Or this?”I nodded to both. Mom retrieved two more dresses while I looked confused at the dresses she had so casually tossed to the floor, quite unlike her.“This one?” she asked, holding a green dress that nicely offset her long, auburn hair.“Or this?” Mom held up a similarly colored dress made of a silkier material.I nodded, “Yeah.”Mom tossed the rejected dress to the floor and pulled the winner off its hanger. She held the dress out to me, “Hold this.”I had to step inside the closet to reach.