miclitter

So, July ENDS. I never think it will most years... I have many associations with this month that affirm my hatred of people in general, but it fades a little with each day as the the weather grows favorably colder.
My mother was born July 11th, 1949. She died from a mixture of psychiatric prescriptions and alcohol on the the 15th of this same month. The following is an excerpt from a handwritten daily journal I let nobody see and will probably burn once I have it memorized...
I am fourteen years old. It is the Summer of 1992. I'm in Summer school because I failed eighth grade.Junior High has been a prison of humiliation at the hands of ghetto metalheads and B-boy thug wannabes and preppies and other such waste of semen who will move on to certain success years from now. I fantasize daily of mass murder... disemboweled teacers, fellow students... you get the picture.
I awake to a Himalayan / Siamese crossbreed ktten purring beside me. This cat is my favorite of the two we have, but she usually sleeps with mom in the basement. I am happy she has chosen my company. I love my Maggie. Such a pretty kitty. Like a little blue-eyed feline teddy bear. Purring softly. Love. mmmm. I carry her in my arms to my father's office, where the computer is. I have the original Duke Nukem downloaded on our 386 PC. I sit with the cat in my lap combatting interstellar evildoers until the phone rings unexpectedly.
It's a call from my mother's work. It's Lenny, a woman I have known since I was eight years old... a coworker of my mother. Mom hasn't shown up today, she tells me. Is she okay, she asks me. Let me see if she overslept, I tell her.
Maggie follows me to the basement... three stories down. Mom sleeps there every night... dad snores loudly three stories up in the room next to mine.