I don't know what to do with the latest missive -- the repeated not-so-subtle guilt-tripping requests for money -- from the parental unit.

I am inclined to curl up and soothe myself by counting ways to kick the bucket.

I really wish I hadn't been such a frickin' martyr and taken you up on the phone session over your vacation.

I don't know how to cope.

And, it seems I'm now going to be subjected to this every week.

I don't know what to do.