Maybe Someday I’ll Be Just Like You And Step On People Like You Do

"…It makes me think of how you act to me
You do favors and then rapidly
You just turn around and start asking me about
Things you want back from me…"


I knew there were other reasons that I haven’t been home. The zen-like, spirituality of my Mother seems to have disappeared under the vanity and desire to be desired. Forgive me for saying, but before, when life was about achieving peace and happiness, she was much more introspective as well. These days, she’s all about how skinny she’s gotten, and how every man suddenly wants her body, and how nobody would guess she’s almost Fifty. I appreciate the joy of losing weight, but I get just far too annoyed, because she tries to make observations about the shortcomings of others when she’s absolutely mired in shortcomings of her own. "Hello– you pot, them: kettles." She has easily bought three new wardrobes to fit her new body, and has no intention of stopping, even if bills barely get paid. That, of course, means that she’s chasing every cent owed to her like a bloodhound on a snausage. She even tried to borrow $100 from John to pay for her part of Thanksgiving Dinner, even though he has no source of income at the moment. Like, if you needed that $100, you should have left those shoes and that shirt and this skirt and that makeup where you got it from. The sad part, is that I’ve been present when my Mom has been the sole target of mocking by others for her attempts to appear younger and sexier than she is. I love my Mother dearly, and I’m glad that she’s appreciating her new self, but sometimes people think she looks positively absurd, and talk to her like she’s a brainless whore, and she doesn’t even notice. Sadly, I remember at least that last part, but at least I was 20 and naive.
Less than 24 hours after the departure of a certain male figure in my life, Mom is already discussing lawsuits. My Mother has the ability to go from absolutely Monklike behavior to bloodsucking vampire in 5 minutes. She’s upset because a certain vehicle isn’t insured for me to drive and I have therefore refused to drive it. Also, it wasn’t that the owner refused to allow her access to it, it’s that he didn’t realize at the time he made the agreement that his insurance was not valid for me to operate it and therefore he could not meet his end of the bargain and stick to his terms. Mom is talking about having John or Kenn drive the truck. My view on the subject is that if this person won’t let my boyfriend drive his truck, why would he let someone he barely met and barely spoke to drive his truck? How petty is this bullshit? Like, it costs her nothing for his truck to be on our property, but she’s willing to risk my license and his vehicle to haul a bunch of old wood across Nanaimo because she’d rather not spend $500 for someone else to do it. So much as a scratch on that truck is worth twice that much, and it has no collision.
She is having an off day, I think. She doesn’t have off moments, she has off days that drag other people down into an argumentative pit of dispair because she’s determined to be competitive, and draw all available attention to herself, and insist that everyone else is unsatisfactory and at fault. I went straight to John’s after work and collected my relevant objects, returned them to my place and got ready to go. Now, it is my business if I would like to groom in my own bathroom. I do pay rent for things like that, even when I’m barely home for it to count. So I did the necessary female grooming, gathered a few exchange items and got ready for the party. John decided he wanted to break in the new suit I helped him pick out, so to help him feel more comfortable I decided to get a little bit dressed up. And to be honest, eyeliner, mascara, a long skirt and a halter top doesn’t really count. It would have taken me just as long in casual wear. When I got home, my Mom was playing the PS2. When I’d finished picking out my outfit and grabbing my new items, she was still playing PS2. When I got into the shower she was playing. WHEN I GOT OUT OF THE SHOWER, she was playing. It is not my problem that she suddenly thinks that the only person allowed to preen and make themselves up is herself. She wears damned stilleto heels EVERYWHERE. Everything in the last few days seems to be about how much trouble the rest of the universe is to her existence, and I find it absolutely, intolerably stressful. Seriously. Wake up and smell the hipocrisy.
Then there was the nice long conversation about how if I don’t spend $50 a month on Umac-Core (marine phytoplankton pills), my legs will choke themselves to death and have to be removed before I reach 35. The longest, most insipid conversation about my diabetes then took place. I’m drunk, and sooooo not in the mood to be lectured about the spots on my feet that I was already told were normal by every physician I’ve seen about my diabetes. Fuck. Off. I appreciate, very much, my Mom’s attentiveness and concern, but I do so hate being backed into a corner and told the same thing over and over and over and over and over again as if I haven’t heard it before or haven’t been complying with a suggestion. There is a time and a place to pull stunts like that, and this was so entirely not that time.
I forgive her, I just pray that the trend comes to an abrupt end. In the meantime, I have thoroughly enjoyed our Thanksgiving Dinner. Penny, Ian, Ian (yes, both of them), Chris, Jeanelle, John, Jan, Jack, my Mom, Kenn and Tori were all present. We sat around a table (and a couch) and had a great time making one another laugh. (There was that one in particular… *tehehehe*). I had a few, which is a nice change, so I got to be just as drunk as everyone else instead of the sober odd-one out. Jan made an amazing pumpkin pie. I had a sliver. It was sinful.

~ by Kд§$ị (ИovΔ) on 10/12/2008.

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