Why Won't My Twin Listen to Me?
I cant outrun the feeling Im in danger of ending up like my father. A recluse, depressed, bedridden, with only the television for company. He couldnt maintain the apartment in which my brother, Daniel and I were raised  before we moved him up to a studio apartment in Connecticut, where Daniel was currently residing. We had to bring in men in Hazmat suits because the place was so filthy and vermin-infested. When I used to drop off groceries for him, I wouldnt even put my shoulder bag down on a chair, staring in horror at the roaches as they scurried across the dining room table and recoiling from the ones that lay dead on the foyer floor. My father had no compunction about walking around barefoot, clad only in dirty shorts. Id implore him to put something on and hed insist I was the one with the problem.