I'm not worried about my parents. I'm never worried about them. They worry so much about themselves and everything around them, they've become almost freaky like. So what's it like when I wake up to an entirely empty house, and a message on the answering machiene saying that Dad took Mum to the hospital.

Again, I wasn't worried. I was more curious. She was complaining of a stomach ache. No offence, but whoop-de-fucking-do. I have them all the time. What made her think she needed to go to the hospital?

I babysat for little sister and Max (her older brother) for the past two days now. Little sister is not feeling well at all. She's always tired, she's running a fever and it's hot outside. The poor little darling is simply miserable. If she'd quit fussing though, I bet she'd feel a whole lot better.

Little sister was really tired on Saturday (so was I, but I didn't want to say anything), so I took the crying 6 month old in my arms, held her and rocked her slowly in a rocking chair. She was out in five minutes tops. And I sat there for an hour, holding her a rocking back and forth. I felt an even stronger bond with her than I did before.

I really wish she lived up here. They live in Ann Arbor, and I'm lucky to see them 4 times a year. Last year, I saw them twice. My aunt was having troubles traveling with a one year old baby and being pregnant at the same time. So instead, we, that is, my mother and I, went down there to see them. The problem? My schoolwork and her job. I can't skip school when she could call in, and vice versa.

I wonder when my parents get home. I'm really hoping soon, because I want to see little sister, Max, Teresa and Kurt before they leave for home. By looking at the clock, I believe that I wouldn't make it even if I headed over there now.

And I never got to say goodbye.