What really frightens me? What leads me to think the world is a cold, dark, lonely place? What makes me question the existence of goodness and kindness and honesty? What makes me believe that I will die alone, unsuccessful, ugly, and hated….?
She’s here. She called this afternoon from the nearest airport to tell me that–surprise!–she’s here.
My mother is here. She’s in my house. Oh. Fuck.
Posts may be sporadic for a few days, and if I do post something, it’s likely I’ll be drunk. The only thing my mother has ever inspired in anyone is heavy drinking.