I can't stand you, mom. You have the most terrible personality ever. You see everyone else's flaws, and not yours. You don't realize how badly that comes off. I don't like introducing you to my friends. I'm embarressed. You're too loud and you're just plain mean. I hope to God that you have good intentions somewhere inside of you, but I swear I'm starting to lose hope. Why are you so bitter? Life isn't so bad, and it hasn't fxxxed you over nearly as bad as you think it has. Stop playing the victim. You're forty-five years old. I'm the kid. I'm supposed to be the angsty one. So why are you?