Everyone here is so cranky. Everyone here is so angry. Everyone here is crying or yelling or nagging or frowning. Happy birthday, Mom. I'm sorry 2009 was the worst year of your life. I'm sorry that the last three years have gone from bad to worse. I'm sorry that you're cleaning up after your own birthday dinner. I am sorry, so sorry, as I hear you washing the dishes and running the garbage disposal. So sorry, yet, I sit here, unwilling to get up and help.  I'm sorry that I am not a better daughter, that simply being here makes me moody. That all I want to do is run away. Be by myself. Far from here. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but there is only so much I can do.