My mother and I had a family therapy session with my father in rehab today. I suppose I should write at length here about how messed up both of my parents are: how my mother is shrill and vicious and lacks empathy and is incapable of taking care of herself and is slowly destroying her body and her property; and about how my father is a slave to his addictions and is too weak to face life's vicissitudes with a clear mind. And, of course, about how messed up I, in turn am: how I feel anxious about both of my parents, about whether they'll be taken care of in their dotage and how I ought to help them more but I really need to live my own life, and be happy without getting involved in their negativity.
But I won't.
I've been working afternoons at the Old Job. It's okay. I have nothing to say about that, either.