Cold seeps through the tops of my sneakers as I curl sideways in the scratchy seat, rearranging the fleece coat over my legs. The time on my watch makes me sigh… only 3:42 am. At least three more hours of this miserable half sleep. Reaching into the back seat, I grab another shirt and stuff my arms through the sleeves. My fingers are freezing, the November chill overwhelming my tiny knit gloves. This is the fourth night I have spent sleeping in this damn driveway, while my boyfriend sleeps inside his mother's house, in a warm cozy bed.

My breath has steamed up the inside of my Corolla, but even in the pre-dawn gloom I can see the cats milling around in front of my car, waiting for someone to feed them. I almost feel sorry for them, until I remember that I haven't put anything but a baloney sandwich and half a pint of vodka in my stomach in the past three days. I'm hungry, tired, scared, and cold. As soon as my boyfriend wakes up, he will be out in the car, yelling and hitting-I must have done something wrong in the car tonight.

I never pictured that I would end up jobless, homeless, a walking poster for "Don't Let This Happen to You." But here I am. What am I doing?