Bitterness is something I have to work on suppressing, nearly every day. There are a lot of things I’m angry about re: my life and how it turned out, and I’ve had more than a few days where I could just punch a wall over it. I don’t though, because I can’t afford to repair the wall…or my broken hand. At nearly 35, I’m not where I thought I’d be when I was 18. I didn’t think I’d be single, unemployed, and living with my parents. I wouldn’t mind still living with my parents if I was at least working and contributing to the household. As for still being single…I’ve long ago resigned myself to being the useful spinster in the family, kind of like Lady Edith Crawley (until she became the Marchioness of Hexham) on Downton Abbey. I don’t have any out-of-wedlock children like she did, however. I can’t even take care of myself, much less a spawnling. My sister has the kind of life I wish I had, what with her job, her boyfriend, and her apartment she lives in with said boyfriend, to say nothing of the more gregarious, fun personality that affords her a social life I’ve never had, but it’s been a slog to remind myself that I’m not her, and I’m never going to be her.