I know you're going to make me work when I get there.

But there's no fucking reason for you to rub it in my face.

It's bad enough I feel so split up, whenever I go there because that means leaving so much here.

You don't have to go all "I'll make you take the tint off the windows of the car."

At least make me feel that I'm leaving for something more than just manual labor. DEAR JESUS.

Real smooth, dad. Real smooth.