Happy Birthday, Mama

Today my mother would have been 73 years old, had she made it this far. When I was a kid, I used to wonder why she never seemed to be bothered by my cuts and scrapes and falls and such. It bothered me until I realized I’m a raging hypochondriac of sorts, so no wonder. Maybe I became that as a way to get her attention. I dunno. I’m screwed up on so many levels, there’s no way to really pinpoint a cause.

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