You know that feeling when you're just... *furious*? It's not a big deal, really, but it keeps happening. Like yesterday, around 3:15 PM, Dad was in the kitchen again, trying to assemble those little plastic birds he loves, the ones with the tiny interlocking wings, and he just… couldn’t see the slots. He held one up, squinting, and I swear I saw his hands shaking, and then he just dropped it, scattering all twelve pieces across the linoleum, and I had to pick them up, again. Sometimes you just want to scream, not at him, but at… everything.