Thursday, February 21, 2013

My mother is coming this weekend.

My mother.  This weekend.  She announced her intentions via text yesterday, in the middle of my workday. Oh, you're coming to visit, that's nice.  I'll go down to *insert-brother's-name-here* place and see you.

But that was not what she meant.  She meant to come and see me.  And stay over.

"My dentist* thinks it will be good for me.  He also thinks it will be good for you."
"Tell your dentist I don't pay him."  If I did, it would be for his silence.

It will be good for me.  I genuinely need to relax more.  Cleaning my apartment in a panic on a Thursday night is just what the doctor ordered.  I love my mother, she's sweet.  She may also be the crux of the clusterfuck I call my brain.  If I were a drug-addicted celebrity, I'd probably mention her name while refusing to admit my own culpability**.

It will be good for my mother and I to have some girly time.  So often, we see her with this big barnacle attached (her husband), and we all end up feeling strangely... awkward?  I've known him for a long time now, I'm just tired of his stories.  He has a tendency to bring up news pieces and then talk about money***. My mother is planning on bringing pizza from home (the city she's in makes really good pizza), and then... watch a movie?  Maybe go to the market on Saturday morning.  Whatever, it'll be fine.  I just hope we don't end up watching a tearjerker together, those aren't good.  OOH!  I'll make her watch some Arrested Development!  Awesome.

My social life is exploding at the moment.  People are planning things with me about 3 months in advance, forcing me to admit two truths:

1) I am a grownup now.
2) Fuck your grownup-edness, I want to write and drink and just sit over here quietly for awhile, can I please sit over here quietly for awhile.  The shorter way of typing point 2 is to simply say "I don't want to grow up."




*Therapist.  Like mother, like daughter.
**As is my god-given right as a celebrity. And as a drug addict, judging from some people I know.  Shells of people. She sells sea shells of people, by the sea shore.  That's even harder to type than it is to say.
***"Can you believe they spent 50 million dollars on that?" he would say.  "Yes.  They are the government, and they're building a bridge.  This isn't someone's income, it's a bridge," I would reply.

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