Another day.  Begin it well and serenely.  

    Well, at least we’ll try.

    I spend yesterday hung over.  I spend it in low spirits.

    I speak with my Mother, over the phone, as I sit in the driver seat of my Honda Element, with the door ajar, my legs hanging out, smoking a cigarette in the rain.

    You may have some more back and forth, you two, she says.

    And I cringe at the words.  I pull smoke in.  Blow it out.  A white sedan passes and I stare at the couple inside as they laugh about something.  A joke perhaps.  Maybe an observation.  Maybe they’re laughing at me.

    You’re too trusting, my Mother says.  You give people everything and leave nothing for yourself.

    My bare feet have pebbles and strands of grass stuck to the bottoms.  The ends of my pants are damp from stepping through puddles.  My neck aches from passing out on the couch last night.

    Half glass full, remember? she asks.

    Yeah, I say.  I remember.

    But I never see it that way.  I never see it at all.