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Tomorrow, again

I wish I could be a good person, at least what I think one should be; but I am not. It's been easy except for some moments. This is not true, when I listen to Sleepsong. I put that in my truck and I...don't know what comes over me. I don't know why I am angry, but then, THEN when that song is on, I don't feel anything but rage, a silent rage. I could tear the steering wheel out of my truck.

And my Pop, Pop, dad's father, will not last this week. Again, my mother flies up on Monday. Sam and I will follow. Again, can we not rest? I suppose 5 deaths in two years is enough. Fuck this. Fuck it, insomuch as, stop putting us through this. I can't show any emotion anymore anyway...I know the words...but the heart, I think it's gone. Except for Shea Stadium. "Last Play at Shea" with Billy, man that had me in tears all night.

1989 September. Expos v. Mets. Wo sat there all night for that game on my birthday. Rained out. Last time I was at Shea. God damn, I loved that place. I miss pop. Who else can I talk to about this? Who can I talk to about sports anymore? It's all gone.

Me, Johnny, and Sam, are going to see the Yanks on Monday, while I send mom off to Pop. Christ, how many family members do we have to lose in 2 years? 2 uncles, 1 dad, and 2 grandfathers (one dog and a cat as well...love you Cider and KC) For fuck's sake. There is no loving part of me left in the world. Just a cynical asshole. I hope to hear good music once again, if for nothing else but to want to be enraged at people on the road. I wish for one night, not to cry because I am the one going to the old condo everyday, and no one else wants to do it. I wish I didn't have to drive in there ever again, especially not to remember the look on my dad's face the night I brought him back Olive Garden when he didn't expect it. "What A treat!" God damn...god fucking damn it.

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