I snapped at Brenda today. Brenda. Over a stapler. I mean, who yells about a stapler? She just asked if I saw it and I just… lost it. Full-on rage. Like it was HER fault I couldn't find the damn thing. She looked like I slapped her. And I hated myself right away. Right then. It’s been a month since Dad died. Just a month. Everyone keeps saying "relief, right?" and yeah, part of me feels it. That part feels like a monster. For ten years it was just me and him. The house smelled like hospital, even when it didn't. Lifting him, changing him, talking for him when his throat was blocked. Every single day. He couldn't even tell me he loved me at the end. I miss him so much it hurts. And I want to scream because I don't have to do it anymore. I mean I don't even — whatever. I keep thinking about the stapler. And Brenda’s face. She didn’t deserve that. I was always so careful with Dad. Always gentle. Always nice. Even when I wanted to scream so bad my teeth ached. Now he's gone and I’m just… mean. All that stuff I held in for years. It’s coming out. And I can’t stop it. I don't know who this is. This isn't me. Is it? God.