This morning, mom woke me up at 5:30, screaming hysterically from her bathroom.

"There's a spider!" she cried. "It's coming after me!"

More distressed shrieking.
I squashed the daddy-long-legs (Pholcus phalangioides, according to Wikipedia) under the toe of my slipper, trudged back to her couch and fell asleep again.

Mom needs me for the silliest things.
Like she hasn't really learned to be a grown-up yet.
She's afraid brother is going to move out.

Last week she cried when I corrected her for calling us 'children'.

"We're more like adult-children, Mama."

It's true. He is 19 now, and I haven't been 19 in a fair few years.
Tears from Mama.

"Don't say that!" she blubbered, wiping her tears as she drove down Beach Boulevard.

I just patted her back, trying to comfort a 42 year old infant.
Mom needs me for the silliest things.

This date will not be burned on into my memory.
I don’t remember dates.
But I will damned well remember what happened today.

I tried for hours to find that best way to explain this.

I think I found a way.
It is like a good dream. But one you can’t remember having.
You wake up feeling great, and you know that you were having a great dream.
You have no idea what it was about or why you liked it. But you know it was great.
And you are willing to try as hard as you can to go to sleep.
And to dream that dream.
Just so you can wake up again, forgetting the dream but having the feeling again.
It's that dream you can only almost remember.

I wanted to kiss you yesterday.
I should have kissed you yesterday.

I am 17. I turn 18 in March and this is how I describe my first kiss.

She kisses with her eyes closed.

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