No really. I knew that I said that I would write more. And I have 10 journals entries documenting how I rushed across country to say goodbye to my dying grandma, watching her take her last breath right before my eyes, telling the household that she had died, reconnecting with family, grieving over losing the pillar of my father’s side of the family, and returning home to a place where I don’t fit in.

These posts are however trumped by the phone call I got from my aunt (10 minutes after I walk into my house in CA) essentially calling me a traitor and informing me that I inadvertently chose her ex-husband over family… because I gave him my email address. Apparently I was the easiest of four cousins to pick on.

I thought I was as far into the depression as I could go. I was wrong.

I had hoped that when I came back here that I would have the strength to make it through another semester. That I would have the strength to finish the dissertation. But all I can muster right now, is another ten tons of tears. Barely anyone back east knew that I was coming home to a job I hate and a feeling of isolation. I didn’t put my burden on any of them. But I guess I should have spoken up. Maybe I wouldn’t have gotten a phone call.

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