Today is December seventh. On this day two years ago I sat on my mother's bed while her and my aunt told me that the cancer was stage four and it would indeed take her life. It is on days like these I am extremely annoyed by the factor that I am a sticker for dates and even more so I'm disturbed by my photographic memory.
I suppose, though, that it's all put into perspective rather quickly when realizing today is also the anniversary of the attacks on Pearl Harbor. It takes but not a moment to make one realize there things truly aren't all about yourself.
December 7th, you suck all around.
