Aries 27° (April 17)

Easter and I thought it would be okay. It isn’t. Didn’t sleep at all last night and just spent the entire day crying my eyes out. Why should a day like Easter even matter to me—it’s weird. In earliest childhood, having to wear outfits like velvet green short pants and matching jacket with scratchy green knee socks and awfully tight shoes, the holiday was spent at Auntie Margie’s in Lyndhurst, New Jersey. Driving from Jersey City to Lyndhurst was like the opening credits of The Soprano’s. I decide to spend Easter watching the show from the beginning. And it’s even more triggering, to pun intended (Guns, trigger, get it? Never mind.). The entire landscape of that show, from the pork store to the ubiquitous cemeteries were a constant in my youth. On top of which the casting director, for whom I worked for a spell, and many of my fellow acting friends who went on to the success I never experienced, populated that show. Michael, Aida, Drea, Ventimiglia and a slew of others. I always felt I had the rights to be part of that show but whatever it wasn’t my fate. And I wasn’t going to play a tough guy any time soon despite my pretty amazing Brando impersonation. I’m home alone thinking about my youth with its many family members all of whom are now gone. I am totally alone and feel it most even on a holiday for which I have zero surface affinity. Maybe Jesus exists somewhere deeper inside me but, speak about “why have you forsaken me?” the theme is near ridiculous today. So screw it. I have this weird new marinara soaked family supposedly so I throw on “Sunday clothes” and head to the scene of my recent criminal punishment. I have pappardelle with lamb ragu and a glass of something, I should remember. Anyway at least now I feel as if I did something Eastery.

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