PS: Regarding Mom, The Book & A Lack of Acknowledgment

Why do I do what I do? Why bother?

1. Well, to do otherwise would be for me to become someone other than who I am. I *am* thoughtful or kind or generous. And for me to be thoughtful or kind or generous to a normally functioning person, usually (not all the time, but more often than not), brings me JOY; and 

2. I'm attempting to make a silk purse out of a sow's ear. I'm trying to do the best I can with what I have. You're only given one mother, and all that related sentiment. It's an "attempt." A small one, granted. But I am incapable of grand, sweeping, elaborate, energy-sapping gestures. I've got my own shit with which to deal.

Is It Really the Long Goodbye If That Person Was Never "Present" To Begin With?

Fuck good intentions. This falls under the category of having a normal impulse for an abnormal mother.

I thought I’d send mom flowers for Thanksgiving, since I won’t be around. Instead, I opted to have the latest Stephanie Plum novel sent. It arrived Tues. No acknowledgement. Yesterday I sent an email:

Subject line: Book 

Body of email: So, did it arrive?

Her reply: I didn’t know you sent it. But I thought it might be you.

Note the outright lack of  “Thank you for thinking of me.” Or even a brief “thank you.” No nothing. I don’t have to do this shit. I thought about her. I thought she’d like this. I thought it’d bring her more joy than some flowers that’ll die in 2 days. Fuck her. Just a motherfucking taker taking like she's entitled to do it. 

That's what a piece of shit she is. She's totally incapable of saying thank you.   She's also incapable of saying, "I'm sorry." IMHO, if she's incapable of saying those two things, I don't give a rat's ass if/when she says "I love you." Because that's just bullshit, because it's so evident she doesn't (love me). And TBH, I don't need her love. Her love is all just self-serving. She doesn't know what it means to give of herself. And at 68 years of age, that old dog is incapable of learning new tricks.

Fuck me running: Book #20 will be en route to her shortly, too. I'm not even going to stoke my rage further by a similar email exchange. 

Only redeeming thing about this: It didn't "cost me" anything more than the $ I earned from Amazon points I earned on my card. I could have, should have, used that $ for something more useful, like stool softeners. Lesson learned.

Maharajah's response: "Yanno, Indian parents are not big on saying "I love you" or "thank you," but even in this situation? Yeah, an Indian parent would say thank you."

Very glad Maharajah has planned a trip for us to be away during Thanksgiving. Just the overriding dread and lack of enjoyment of going to Thanksgiving. Yeah, lemme drive 2.5 hours on a good day, exponentially longer on a holiday, to work like a dog or an indentured servant, only to be served up Boston Market. Uh. No thanks. 

A few weeks ago, mom asked if I wanted Omaha Steaks for xmas, as she's getting them for my siblings.I haven't replied back. It's pointless to say yes, because in her predictable, characteristic style, she'd no doubt get me something useless or something I'd hate, like a 5 lb bag of fucking lima beans. So fuck her. I don't need or want anything, and certainly nothing she could get me. Anything I need or want, I get myself.  

I detailed to the Maharajah about how she'd intentionally sabotage birthdays (not just mine, either). 

For years, she'd go through this elaborate ruse. She'd ask what we wanted our birthday cake would be. Mine always has been a red velvet cake with cream cheese icing. Instead, I would get the antithesis, with a solitary 12 inch taper candle jammed into the middle of it, as she couldn't be bothered to get a box of birthday candles.

The last time I celebrated my birthday, she asked, "What do you want to eat?" I said, "Sirloin salad." What do you want your birthday cake to be? "I said, "Red Velvet Cake with cream cheese icing."  As it was the first birthday with the Maharajah, she decided to make some hideous chicken dish wherein she emptied an entire jar of jalapeno rings onto it (mind you, the husband does not eat either pickles nor jalapenos), and my birthday cake in question? Yes. An Entenmann's crumb... with the predictable taper candle jammed into the center of it.  It's like the birthday and birthday cake version of being Punked.

It's been roughly 13-14 years since I've had a birthday meal involving my mother. 

Note: Birthday gift would usually be given in a plain brown paper sack, inside which would be an unsigned birthday card, a package of wrapping paper and a roll of scotch tape. Yes. That fucking lazy and that fucking lacking in give-a-shit. Why bother? To this day, she views that as a joke. Something so carelessly cruel which has somehow or another been codified into a family tradition.  

Note: For years, I thought my brother's desired bday cake was a Black Forest Cake. Turns out he loathes BFC, and his desired bday cake is either a Casatta or an Italian Rum/Baba Au Rum cake. I can't recall off hand my sister's desired bday cake; however, one birthday cake one year remains indelible: A Carvel "Bulgey the whale" ice cream cake. Which then makes me wonder if my father ever atoned for nicknaming my sister Bulgey... or Thunder Thighs. Casual cruelty abounds. I remember before dad went under the knife for his mitral valve replacement, I suggested he apologize to my sister for the Bulgey thing. I doubt he ever did.

Unrelated, related note: I'm going back on antidepressants. This time: Wellbutrin.

Received via Email Today

Don't recall when she sent this, but this is the ramblings, verbatim, from my mother from a few weeks back. 

I have been really sick..my cellious has returned with a vengious.. from my knee to my hip. so awful painful;;It started with a migraine that lasted 3 days. and than the cellulitis painfully arrived. Worst God awful pain ever..thought it was going to kill me...