I frequently get an overwhelming urge to contradict everything I’ve just written in a post; take it all back, position myself at the polar opposite viewpoint, deny everything. If it’s a medical condition, I don’t know the name of it yet. So far I’ve resisted the urges and let the posts live.

This morning on my way to work, I walked by a couple lying between two parked cars, the man receiving a blowjob. I’m growing tired of my neighborhood. People seem to view the Mission as a good dumping grounds for all sorts of things they’re too lazy to get rid of the proper way; empty propane tanks and car batteries; ripped-up sofas, miles of cardboard boxes and open garbage bags spilling out contents nobody would want. There’s so much crappy stuff in the world; who keeps making ugly knick-knacks, and who keeps buying them? A forest of newspapers blown apart and spinning in the air. If it’s middle-class of me to want to live in a neighborhood with cute houses, trees, and a park or two, sue me.

Mom’s been gone three months today. I suppose the first of each month will feel like this. All the clichés hold true; I can’t believe she’s gone, I can’t believe it’s been three months already, life just keeps going. Sometimes I feel guilty that I don’t think of her more often, or that there’s not enough room to fit her memory in somewhere. As if that’s all that’s left. The essence of life is change; to hold onto something too tightly is to risk damage. Acknowledge it and release it, let it slide where it should.

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