The word "winter" doesn't mean much in Los Angeles, it's 85 degrees out and I'm hiding behind the blinds in my room. Mom is out by the pool as always, it doesn't matter to her that she already looks like a gingerbread woman. I prefer milk for my own skin.
Dad called yesterday, I picked up and he sounded glad to hear my voice. I almost started crying, I miss him and mostly I miss the bond we shared when I was little. He always cared about me and I know he still does but lately we've grown apart. It's the worst feeling in the world and I don't know what to do about it. There's nothing I can do I guess, it's all a part of growing up, as awful as that seems.