But seeing my father asleep on the sofa at 7pm from drinking too much wine has pushed me to sit down and work out my woes.
What I need to have a bit of a rant about is getting old.
Not all of us grow old. But all of us are getting older.
And it feels like there's so much support for us when we're young, and then we're left to fend for ourselves.
I'm not saying that we should be nannied and molly-coddled all our lives. I just wish there were something extra there to help us find our way.
What if you don't know what you want to work as? What if you don't know how to get up in the morning? If you feel lost, alone, isolated, where are you meant to turn if you need professional help?
When I was younger, there was a lot of help available through school, and even at university there was the opportunity to get professional help with any mental health problems I had.
My sister is struggling to cope with her mental health issues, and struggling too to get enough support.
When you turn 21, it appears that the support goes, unless you can afford it. NHS waiting lists for counselling are long, no doubt because NHS workers are stretched beyond their limits. But why should we have to pay to save our mental health? Why isn't our mental health as important to us, and to society, as our physical health? Are we investing enough for our minds' sake?
And when you've moved from school to work, and you don't think the work you're in is the right thing for you, how do you find the right path? I've never been to a job centre, but the impression I get of them is that they are focused on getting you into work, any work. Good yes, but great? No. If you get a job that you don't love, that you're not passionate about, that you don't strive to succeed in, then how can you develop as a person. Perhaps I feel that way because I am so focused on my work. I live to work, I don't work to live.
At high school we had a jobs library, where you could explore fact sheets and books on any number of careers. But how do you choose which book to look at? I don't even know how, or why, but I looked at information on television and film. That was even before someone in Sixth Form told me I'd be good at it. I still have the photocopied pages.
What's that famous Trainspotting quote? "Choose a life. Choose a job. Choose a career."
How?
I've had doubts these last few weeks that the career I've chosen is right for me. Can I make it last? Will I get where I want to go with it? Where do I want to go with it?
And there has been the tiny, tiny, tiny voice in the deep dark recesses of my mind saying "Wouldn't it just be easier to settle down, get married, and have kids?"
Well, no, it wouldn't, threetimestiny voice. It really, really wouldn't.
What I think allows me to hear that tiny voice when I usually wouldn't, is the idea that settling down and having children offers some security in knowing that you are going to be something for the rest of your life. That something is the always cherished, always under-appreciated role of mother.
But then the thought of having children makes me feel slightly nauseous. I learned the other day that the fear of child birth is called tocophobia.
For me it's not just the fear of child birth, it's the fear of having children depending on me, and the fear of being tied into a life I can't get out of.
So it is my fear of commitment that's stopping me getting married and having children. Could it be that simple?
Hmm. I don't think it's that simple. But I'm going off on a tangent.
At the moment my hardest decisions are what to eat for lunch, or what to watch on Monday night (Jonathan Creek or Don't Just Stand There, I'm Having Your Baby?). Getting older brings so much responsibility, responsibilities I don't know how to be ready for.
Is it enough to just check tasks off To Do lists?
Is it enough to take life one day at a time?
Will I need, like my parents, alcohol as a crutch to get me through the days, the nights, the weeks, the months, the years? To relax after a hard day at work, to escape an unhappiness that only oblivion can cure for a few, all-too-brief, hours?
Will I wake up one day old, and feel content with my life? And be there with my physical and mental health in tact?
Am I ever going to be ready for the rest of my life?
And even after 2 months, I still don't feel like I got this right.
