My sister wonders why I don’t want to go shopping right after coming home from an eight-hour shift.

I’m spent.

My dad wonders why I’m passed out on the couch at four in the afternoon.

I’m                           tired.

My friends don’t wonder why I’m no longer the life of the party, but they still choose to see me.

I’m
                                 exhausted.

At 25 I have come to realize that it is not normal to stress about a mortgage or how to keep a house.
That at 25, coming up with property tax money is not normal.

That at 25 it is abnormal to be alone in your worry of losing the last physical reminder of your lost mother.