so well. I wake up in the morning, and it takes me all of two seconds to approach the fridge, get some beers, grab my book, and read the living fuck out of it. It doesn't even matter if it's good. I'm totally obsessed with books. It's delicious. It's the best diversion in the world.  What does that have to do with my mother? It's that guilt like I'm not being good because I'm not fucking anybody. I hear her voice in the back of my head telling me I'm doing something wrong. "Ma! I just want to sit here and read and work and get drunk for a little while!" The last time I checked, there's nothing wrong with it. I go to work, and I get completely filthy, and I don't want to clean up. I go to the store, buy a bunch of beer, get naked, and get drunk and read until four in the morning. I feel bad for the future library patrons that happen to read the same book with my greasy fingerprints and I feel bad for my mother for disappointing her so much.  But, I like it!!! Yes! Yes! Yes! This book I'm reading right now is so Anti-Anti-Semitic. And, my father in San Jose a practicing Jew, that's so confusing to me. I was raised a complete Atheist by both of my parents. It's probably the only thing that my parents had in common besides having the same son. Now, I'm bewildered. And, my guts hurt so bad. I get some relief, and my sheets stink. And, I know girls won't like that, and I should go wash them, but I like being pathetic scum. I had a dream last night, there was the imminent nuclear warm coming and girls wanting to fuck me, and I liked it because I'm trained to like it. It's the only feeling of self worth I've ever allowed myself throughout everything. There were sea creatures that could kill us all, and I lost everything. My backpack, and all the beer. My drug dealer wouldn't answer his phone, and somebody stold the wheels off my bike. I was upset back in Texas. There was nowhere to turn. Nobody to turn to. I had shunned everyone and was so sad. So sad, but the second I awoke, everything was right