Dear Me,
He didn't come home until eight last night. If all the days like they were yesterday I don't think he'll be able to hold up much longer. I'm kind of hoping that the airport might call. The job would be much less physically demanding.
I wish the last year hadn't happened. I'm anxious all the time now and constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop as it were. Of course, my parents screaming at me did little to improve the situation. They got into a fight over our predicement and then decided it wasn't enough they were making each other miserable, so they called me to come home. How is it that I'm nearly 40 years old and when I'm around them in that state I revert back into a frightened eight year old?
Life shouldn't be like this.
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