I worry about home. To hear my parents quavering voice on the telephone telling me how wretched they feel with their existence makes me feel helpless. It's the same old sad story. When does it change? It doesn't. May be I will change, to cope better with the situation. But I don't. I only grow wary of this. The hope that springs eternal is what is taking its toll on me. Maya, an illusion. What is there to hope for- better day, better pay?? No, none of it. Let me not wait for Godot. Cause there is none.