It’s a Saturday night, 9:30pm, and I’m using my laptop in the kitchen at my dad’s work.

Things are shit at home right now. After my mom refused to give me dinner, I called my dad and we went out to Coney Island. I thought things might be a little better when I got home, but before I even had both feet in the door, everything blew up in my face again.

Literally, not even both feet in the door. When I had one foot through the doorway, I accidentally tipped the box I was carrying with my leftover pasta salad, and some dressing dripped out. Some on the cement just outside the door, some on the mat just inside, and some on the tile just past the mat.

I asked my mom for a paper towel, explaining what happened. She got the paper towel, sure. Then she flipped. Again. Calling me all sorts of names and insulting me both to my face and in front of my face to my brother.

Once I finally got inside after cleaning up the mess, I was yelled at to go turn my shoes upside-down and wash off the soles, because I may have stepped in it. I washed them off as soon as she told me, albeit not without complaint.

I thought things might get a little better once I was able to sit down in front of my computer (I’m sharing a room with my mom, so I use my laptop in the kitchen. I have no room to go to when I want to be alone), but no sooner did I sit down than my mom yelled at me–again–to wash off my shoes.

I ALREADY DID. I DID IT RIGHT WHEN YOU ASKED. I yelled some more. Can you blame me? This wasn’t the first incident of the day; my mom, brother, and I had been fighting since about 4pm.

Soon enough, my brother was telling me that I was ruining their days. “Stop ruining our days!” Direct quote.

Maybe some more was said, maybe it wasn’t. I don’t remember. I couldn’t take it anymore, so I ran out of the house in my bare feet, catching my dad just as he was pulling away from the curb. He agreed to take me back to work with him, so here I am now.

I’m tired, sure. I don’t have all the luxuries of home, and I’m now on his schedule for the night. But you know what? I’m just happy to be in a place where my biggest problem is locating the Honey Nut Cheerios I keep dropping on the floor.