At this moment of this day I am residing with my mother here in Staten Island. There is nothing sadder than a late thirties dude living with his mother (goodbye Craigs List Hostings) yet I give myself somewhat of an immunity to feeling completely like a loser because I moved out at 16 and 1/2 when I went to college and have only used her domiciles since then as 'hostels' (yet quite hostile at times) or dumping grounds for my accumulated magazines and books and journals and shit from every stomping ground I decided to leave in favor of one in a better state or country.
I love my mother, don't get me wrong. I actually hold her in the highest regard of women. At one point holding her in such high regard that when someone asked me why I was not dating or serious with someone, I would tell them that no female I have met could hold a candle to my mom. By the way, "Meet my 'Best Friend' Brian".
I am my Mom. I believe in Genetics solely based upon the slim chances that one boy out of four could get every ailment and physical trait that he has watched his mother suffer through, only years later. I got the good and I got the bad. By the way, I'm the one who innocently squealed to her that 'some lady' sends 'daddy' cards and he hangs them in his store. I was nine and my maliciousness had not yet been fully formed.
So, here we are living in this 3 room and it is FREAKING UNBEARABLE. I'm too old for this shit. And that's why some of my previous posts are reflecting how I am so friggin sorry for the mistakes of my past.
"Mick...American Idol is on".
"Mah!", I scream back like a Gavone, "I never watched American Idol in my life. Why are you asking me to watch this shit."
Yet, she is so inviting. I can't refuse. I light a cigerette and go join my Momma.