I don't know if this even counts as a real confession, but I think maybe I messed things up with my daughter. For years, I told her everything about... well, my marriage. She'd sit on my bed, maybe 9:30 or 10 PM, usually after I’d been trying to paint all day and felt like a failure, and I’d just talk and talk. I remember her little blue stuffed elephant always on her lap. She'd listen, really listen, and give me advice, and now she’s almost 18 and I see her friends going out and she just... stays home. I feel bad. Like I took too much.