Sometimes, I Get Sad.

Right now, Alex and I are staying at his parents' house.

We're making cookies, because that's what his mom wanted for Christmas.

Later, we're moving back into his apartment.

Alex has to go talk to fin aid, because he couldn't pay his fees, because the bursar's office messed everything up, as usual.

And I have to set up the new, red, coffee maker that Alex bought for me.

We're going to sip coffee like sophisticated folk and lay on his bed and stare at the ceiling together.

It's going to be nice.

Things are nice right now.

Everything is going nicely.

But sometimes, I get sad.

I'm still debating whether or not I want to go to therapy.

Alex thinks I should.

But, we don't talk about it anymore, because I got mad and told him to never mention it again.

And I think it hurt his feelings, that I didn't want to talk to him about it.

Because you're supposed to. You're supposed to be able to talk to your boyfriend, or your husband, or your "significant other," or whatever about important things. They're supposed to be your support system. That's what relationships are about.

And I feel bad for saying it.

But, at the same time, I don't want to talk about it.

With him, or with anyone.

My mom still has Alzheimer's.

I'm still her favorite child.

Rather, I'm her only child that loves her.

It sucks, sometimes, to think about it.

My mom had three kids with two different men. And of the three, only one of them ended up loving her. I'm the only one that didn't turn out a failure (in relative terms, of course.)

Being in New Orleans without her feels like a betrayal. She's in Midland with a slowly deteriorating memory. That's where I should be, too. Taking care of her, the way a child should. It's why we have children: to have someone to care for us when we're old and unable to care for ourselves.

And I keep telling myself that I'm here, away from her, so that I can get my education and be better financially able to care for her down the road.

But That Is A Lie.

I could get my education in Midland. An apartment, a job, a life that runs parallel to her's.

That's what a truly devoted daughter would do.

But I'd rather live here, with Alex and Grace, and close to Michael, and far from Mom and Grady. I'd rather pay more money and see my mom less often.

And I keep thinking of The Perks Of Being a Wallflower, which I have never read but hope to someday soon, and its most famous quote, and how it seems to define me more than I would like.

Mostly, I just think about how, even though things seem pretty awful right now, everything will get better.

So, this is my life. And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad, and I am still trying to figure out how that could be.