You know, if you did the math, you'd find you really don't have to drink more than three or four beers a day to finish by the end of the month. Which isn't more than a slight inconvenience-- the rampant drunkenness and alcohol poisoning isn't necessary. But, hey, whatever works for you.

It does mean that I know I haven't had enough today to justify being this maudlin. So I must be cursed.

Maybe it's just that I was so young when she died, but it's difficult for me to think of my mother as anything but perfect. She wasn't; I mean, no one is, but rationally? She had her share of faults. I don't know, I guess she was typical of her time. Sex, drugs, and rock and roll, right? But she was my mother; which meant, more or less, that she was the center of my world. I'm sure it wasn't easy for her to take care of us me on her own, but she managed it, somehow. Perfect. Always patient, always gentle... We didn't have all that much, but it never mattered. We were... happy. I remember that, being happy... Sometimes I manage to miss it. Things weren't the same after she died.

Shut up, shut up. I remember... I don't know. Scattered things. Her standing on the porch calling me in; playing hide and seek. Her smile as she leaned against the wall, chatting on the phone. Hmn, probably to him, for all I know. Worn-out band t-shirts and candy-colored nail polish. I remember her smiling, always smiling, until...

Well, it was a long time ago. I don't think about it often.