For Me Mum

Sunday mornings, coffee and ink from a fresh page of colored comics. I would wake up late, pancakes. 

Now I am awake at 9 because I live with too many people. It smells like garbage. My "friends" hit my car, scratch the paint,  play their music very loudly.  At night, too. 

I am up early and down late. This has taken a toll on my mental state. 

I was never a positive individual. But I wasn't so starkly negative that I would insult strangers before getting to know them. I do that now, to save time. All the same cookie-cutter-self-absorbed-types, I can shoot them down before they have a chance to aim. It is too easy to be mean. I do not feel regret. If people had feelings, they would consider mine. 

My mother is an optimist. It takes someone special to be positive in the face of bullshit. I only learned recently that positivity was not always my mother's tendency. She said she had to work at it. 

I am not a hard worker.

I am not special.

At best, I am mediocre in everything I attempt. 

I can pass. 

But I cannot excel.

My mother is better than everyone in this city combined.