:in deadpan voice:
I have nothing to say. I wish I did. But I don't. I have no job to exasperate me. I have no friends to delight me, or annoy me, depending on the situation. No customers to annoy me. The only person I really talk to is my aunt, whom I live with. And we are not friends. And as much as she or I or perhaps both would like it, we are not sisters and will never be that close. I am a burden on her. Her husband and I don't really get along. We have a few common interests but exponetial differences of opinion. I don't know what he thinks of me, but I know it's not good. And for my part, he reminds me of my father. I wish I could say he's nothing like him, but I can't, and I'm sorry for that. But the way he speaks to me, the way he makes me feel: it's very similar. The harshness followed by generousity. It is my father. It is me, as well, I can admit that. I wish I couldn't. But I am what my father made me. I am not cruel, as he was, and neither is my uncle. B