My mother upset me today. I fumed for hours. I hated how the ill feeling consumed me. I tried distracting myself with the interwebs. I couldn't be helped. Lackadaisical.
"I hate her I hate her I hate her!" screams went through my head. Reduced to a teen again.
Course, it's not her I hate. I hate the way she makes me feel. And that I let her.
It didn't help matters that Twitter had been down earlier, and this evening Pinterest had a server gone wacky. "Just isn't my day," I thought. Cuz it's all about me. #FirstWorldProblems
Then I searched Google Images with "piglets swimming" and, within seconds, a weight was lifted. Go figure. I could almost laugh about it.
In the past, I may have felt the need to rehash the whole incident. Now, not so much. So we don't get along. I just wish her opinion didn't still matter.
I made a plan. I made some choices. My selections were to please me, not her. If she's not pleased, it's her problem. Not like she's been pleased with much I've done with my life. Why should it be different this time?
I told RJ he's lucky (I'm lucky!) she doesn't pick on him. It's a miracle really!
It saddens me, the gap between me and my parents. Culturally, we might as well have ALWAYS lived apart. To disagree is one thing. Adults do that. Big deal. But to feel like they're just not getting me as a person. Never have. Never will.
If there was a reason I've felt intrinsically sad since I could remember, this may be it. Not like a reason is necessary.
Well, there's Alzheimer's to look forward to. Cuz like I've said before:
Beauty is only skin deep. But a winsome personality will stick until dementia hits.
It works both ways. Someday my mother won't be the same person. And I won't be the same person. And none of this will matter. Just like it really doesn't now, if I can just remember the big scheme of things.
