  Its times like these that I am really, really glad I have my friends. I feel like a fucking hillbilly. My father is in Seattle on business. My mother, in his absence, has decided to go ballistic on Joey. He didn’t come home last night, which is not unlikely or surprising. I have no justification for planning his eulogy at times like these. I know he will come home eventually, whether it’s in a few hours or a few days. But I still feel like he is going to overdose nonetheless, and I start to prepare myself for a late-night phone call with the worst news imaginable.
That’s morbid, irrational, and completely fucked up. Yet I do it all the time. He finally waltzed in (presumably high… bloodshot eyes and smelling strongly of alcohol) at six tonight. Someone had pierced his ear with a safety-pin and another person had drawn all over his face with black marker. After yelling with my mother upstairs, he retreated to the kitchen where I was watching TV. And we talked… actually, I talked and he listened. He actually listened , for the first time since I can remember, he didn’t leave the room or tell me to fuck off. He sat there and took it. I didn’t censor what I said, but I also don’t remember much. I just… told him I hated what he was doing and that I didn’t want him to die.
Just when I was getting going, my mom announced she had called the police. The police . My father would have absolutely died . We’re not royalty, but there is some level of decency and a façade of “ we’re happy, really !” that he clings to desperately. And having a squad car pull up to your house doesn’t exactly fit into this. “ What drugs do you have on you?
" My mom looked in-fucking-sane. I have never seen her so mad. “Acid.” How the fuck can you say that to your mother? How?! Anyway, my brother took off before the police came, so there was no actual arrest. But still, I think I should legally change my name to like, Sally-Ann Bubba or something like that. I have decided all therapy bills in the future will be paid for solely by my parents. And I am going to find some pricey, new-age physiatrist, too. Affectionately… Anna 
