It's 11.13 pm and my parents are flying over the Indian Ocean drinking insipid airline wine and unsticking jammed drink holders. Esther and I sent them off a while ago but "a while ago" seems to have stretched back for days and the future is currently a dumb postmodern joke that I cannot laugh at.

Call it separation anxiety, but I still am feeling overwhelmed by parental absence and the mountain of domestic responsibilities that has been thrown at me, and coupled with my current economic crisis, I have no idea how I am going to handle taking care of my grandparents and my sister and a million other things at the same time. The house is going to fall into dilapidation, I'll spiral into manic depression weeping in the corner of the kitchen, and everyone is going to live in a state of depravity. We'll end up living like savages and it's all going to be my fault.

And to say that I'm insanely jealous would be the understatement of the millennium. Like, hey guys, know what? It would be so nice to hear some remorse or slight regret that your kids aren't coming, but no. You pack your bags, abandon us for your exciting lunchtime vacation discussions and forget that yes, we do exist and yes, we are not people from a twenty-year long dream. Does everyone over 50 have cowhides for skins? You could make canoes out of them and they would cut glaciers.

Maybe I shouldn't have expected their worlds to revolve around mine, but BOO it's kinda like your fault I've been brought into this crappy place so deal with it. I've learnt an important lesson: you either have children and be consistent in bringing them up, or forget about it. Taking breaks away from your kids is plain hurtful.

(And yeah, I know ranting about this online is awful and nasty too but I freaking need catharsis. Guess we're now even.)