Little Good

When I came home from work last night, I went right upstairs into my older son's room. He wasn't there, but it didn't matter because he didn't need to be. I smelled pot as soon as I opened the door. I need to talk with him today although I'm not sure what to say. Not that anything I say will do him any good.

I'm frustrated and disappointed and sad and all the same tired stuff that I keep telling you I am. This is my life and I have to be here, but what's your excuse? At this point, I can't imagine anything I say will do you much good, either.

Which isn't to say that I don't love that you keep coming back for more, but there must be something better to watch on TV. This wasn't what I had in mind when I first set out and suggested that this would be as good a distraction as any. This can't be what you were looking for. Dr. Woo, my ass! It should be Dr. Boo Hoo. Or Dr. Rue. Or Dr. Blue. Or Dr. Jew.

That last joke, I admit, did me a little good.