My psychopatic uncle from my fathers side had written me a letter, a letter I did not wish to read but did anyways. The first paragraph was somewhat sane in his terms ("It would have been easier to talk to you if your voice didn't remind me so much of my mother's") but after he had turned back to his old self and made a demand I'll talk to my dad- his brother, that he'd send him his "stolen" books back. Books we don't own. Later he babbled on about how my father never passed me manners and how insane we all are, and said he's concerend and hopes I'll "do something well with my life" and signed his name.
With family like mine, who needs enemies.
With family like mine, who needs enemies.