Another crazy day yesterday, trying to find where my biz assignment was happening, plus catching up on a story I accidentally blew off Thursday night. But I must tell y'all that I'm positively THRILLED to see that I'm not getting raked over the coals about my little
I'm sure my concern over it comes from guilt, because I was an absolute cunt when I finally did pick her up. That being said, one of the things I'm retrying to learn (in a much less psychotic way) is expressing what I feel when I feel it, and if I'm pissed, it has to come out in some way. When I was in my early 20s? That would've been a glass of red cream soda flying across the room at someone. Not real productive, especially when it hit the computer in the newspaper office, but ... So, why not talk to Mother about how she drives me insane? Because we're both too old and too entrenched now to try to change the dynamic in any sort of meaningful way, and there are just some battles that you're better off not fighting. (Read: I beat my head against the concrete about too many
other things to add that to the list.) Here, however, I pay for my bandwidth, so if I feel like saying my mother is a pain in the ass, I'm going to be honest, and if that offends some, the "Back" button is right there at the top. Use it and don't let my crappy attitude and foul mouth hit you on the ass as you go looking for dancing beavers or whatever the fuck bluemountain's spoonfeeding the mildly retarded these days.
Anyway, she's my mother, and I love her dearly despite our what I guess you would call "complicated" relationship -- you know, like 99.9999 percent of all mother-daughter relationships. No one says I have to like her all the time, though. And no one better not say I'm not entitled to have an ass-foul mood every so often, because that's just unrealistic.
Oh, whatEVER.