is making me crazy. Every day
is like the other. I’m stuck in
a perpetual loop that repeats itself
without a break. I drink from the

frustration of having no control
over the situation. My life is gone. Not
that I had much of one anyway. After
fourteen long years all I wanted was only

four days in Paris in the spring. Everyone
else had their vacation. Everyone else
has their family at home. I haven’t seen my son
in weeks, and probably won’t for months. When

I tried to Skype him, and he heard the sound
of my voice he looked around hoping that
I was there. He can’t understand. And nobody
cares.