I live ten minutes away from my sickly parents. They are declining fast. My siblings assume that I’ll continue to take on all the responsibilities of caring for them. I’m the youngest in a family of eight. There’s a gap of nine years between me and my next-youngest sibling. I’m twenty-four years old, and cooking meals for them, cleaning, and doing the yard work (as best I can) is not how I expected to be spending my twenties. I am dreading the coming winter. I don’t even know how to start the snow blower, much less run it.

Two of my sisters and one brother all live within an hour of my parents.

Dear The Tank,
I’m a big believer in family, but I have to admit that my husband’s sister is starting to make me lose my faith! Whenever I’m around her, she’s so critical. It’s like she thinks everything I do is part of some long-term Machiavellian plot to disinherit her. I just want to have a nice time with my family, but I can’t stand her constant sniping and insinuation. What can I do?

I am a highly visible public official. I have throughout my career taken great satisfaction in improving the lives of others.

Unfortunately, lately some mistakes from my past have come to light, and I’m afraid my (understandably) emotional response to this has caused something of a furor in my community. I feel like everything has gotten out of control. My life is at the mercy of the media’s worst, most sensationalistic instincts.

I feel like those who used to respect me and thank me are more likely to spit at me today. How can I get back their esteem, so I can again do my work?

Dear The Tank, I work in private wealth management. I’m a managing director at my firm, where I easily make a double-figure multiple of the median American household income. I should feel good, right? I’m on top of the pyramid, right? But my job takes a lot out of me. First of all, it’s always […]

I have a problem. This is serious, so don’t make jokes. A few weeks ago, my friend James didn’t show up for Monday Night Football with the guys. I called home at halftime and my wife didn’t answer. She’s usually reading a book, so she picks up right away. Then last week, same thing—James didn’t show up. I call home, and someone picks up, but there’s a sound like someone dropped the phone and then a man’s voice and a woman’s voice, and then it goes dead. So I call James’ cell, but he doesn’t pick up. I text both of them, and—funny—neither one writes back until like five to go in the fourth, and then both their messages come in at the same time.

My husband cheated on me a few weeks ago. Well, I found out about it a few weeks ago, but apparently it was going on for some time. I’m so hurt, devastated really. I want my relationship with him back. It was everything I ever longed for. But I can’t get the thought of what he did out of my head. I get angry all the time to the point that I can’t recognize myself. How do I get over these destructive thoughts?

When I have to deal with my upstairs neighbor because he’s being a wuss who can’t handle good music played at a volume that actually allows you to enjoy it, I often find myself having to fight the urge to escalate, to get this thing rolling to the point where it gets physical. How can I keep myself from pummeling this asshole?

Dear The Tank, How can I find a fun job? —Anonymous Dear Anonymous, You haven’t given us much to go on with your brief note, but I can infer a few things. First, your use of the word “fun” rather than “rewarding” or “meaningful” or “tolerable” makes me think that you are still quite young. […]

Dear The Tank, Last Friday, I hit the big 4-0. It really freaked me out, ’cause that’s starting to sound really old. Well, after work, my coworkers surprised me by taking me out to the TGIF’s next to the Best Buy for happy hour. I remember the first seven rounds of whisky sours, but I […]

Dear The Tank, My wife and I fight all the time about money. We love each other deeply and we used to have some wild times, but now we can’t go fifteen minutes without a fight. She gives me this look all the time, the corner of the eye thing, like she can’t believe I’m […]