Dear Diary,

I found a note on a chair in the hallway today. Mom’s going on a “trip”. Whatever. I mean, I can be left home alone. I’m responsible. Duh. She’ll only be gone a few days. Usually she comes home the next. She wants to run away, but she’s way too scared. She’s just a wimp.

This is possibly the tenth time Mom’s left me for a while. Sometimes she drives out of town, into the city for a couple days to look for a better job or something.

The first time she left me alone I was six. Right after Dad left. She didn’t want to live in the house anymore, so she ran. Literally. Nope, she’s not a sensible person who would take a car, or more importantly her six year old daughter. She’s immature, I’ve decided. That’s why I can handle without her, no matter what. I don’t need her fawning over me. I don’t need her to be with me all the time.

I just want her to be with me all the time.

You’re just a leather bound book. But I can’t lie Diary.

I miss her.

But only a tiny bit.