I wish that I spoke to my mother more often before she died. I was so busy trying to be an overachiever and maintain a social life, that I was hardly returning her calls at that point. It makes me feel like a bad son, a bad friend, a bad person.... I know there was nothing I could've done to stop or change the outcome, and my mother dying sucked, it sucked so bad.... but I wouldn't be who I am now, and I like who I feel and know myself as. I just wish I knew stupid little things like how her day was, how she did her nails that week, if she liked the haircut she had just gotten, if she knew how much I love her and thought about her throughout my busy days, and if she knew how miserable I really was at that point in my life even before she died. It's supposed to get easier to deal with certain things after somebody important to you dies they say, but I find that with each anniversary of her death that passes, it becomes harder. It becomes harder to remember the smell of her hair or her favorite perfume or the many scents of her purse, harder to remember the sound of her voice and laughter, harder to remember the details of her face and smiles and smirks, harder to remember the last time she and I spoke or even saw each other, alive, but worst of all, it becomes harder with each passing second to remember, and realize that the memories that I once held so vividly, have aged and have begun to crumble and slip through the hourglass of time. So in the end, I wish I could have held my memories tighter.... they're all I have of my past, nobody around me now can help me remember those pieces of my past.

I do horribly monotonous tasks.... just a typical human career life. Something may be different here and there, but it's all the same. It makes no true difference, and if I didn't have to "make" a living, I'd sooner slit my wrists in 16 different directions that purposely do my job or almost any "job".