I was running a bit late, but I texted you so I know you're not worried. I had to stay late at the bookstore to finish some re-arranging for the owner. It wasn't a problem and I really want the owner to think I'm doing a good job. I don't even know why, I don't need the job, but I want to accomplish something I guess. Something real and tangible and good. Something Mother probably wouldn't approve of.

I wonder what that says about me? That I still have so much anger towards her.

"I'm home!" I call out as I enter our apartment although I have the feeling you would know it even if I was silent as the grave. I still feel that we're connected, just a little, even if there's no logical reason for us to be. "I'm sorry I was late."