10.9.12
It was still fairly bright out, the street lights were on and it was 68 degrees outside. I almost ran into a man and spilled my hard cider everywhere, because I was looking down at the leaves and my head was up my ass. There were a lot of things to think about and where I was going wasn't high on the list. Being miserable didn't make my fridge full. My face probably looked terrible as I thought about how the good people go too quick and the ones worth shit hang around forever. I thought about how if my mother died in surgery earlier that morning, it would (sadly, maybe) be for the best and that I wouldn't fly home for the occasion. Some junkies die early, some linger in their bodies like ghosts. I kept crying and wasn't entirely sure why. I thought I missed home but then the thought of going back made me feel ill.