I've refrained from trying to call her again. I left an email. Love that, there's a date and time stamp on it so she can see I when I sent it. Assuming she ever opens her email.
I'm going to power through and if she doesn't manage to call me (subtext: blow up my cell phone during work hours), I only plan on breaking silence on New Year's Day itself. Beyond that, she can sit and stew in her own negativity.
I'm slowly coming around to the idea of embracing this delusion (of hers, and that of my sister) of me being a bitch. Heck. They think I'm a bitch and I haven't really gone out of my way to be actually bitchy (though, of course, anything that runs counter to their own desires could be construed as bitchy). Imagine if I really "leaned in" and was actually outright and actively bitchy?
Imagine Audrey having her "January medical drama" in a few short days (right on schedule!) and I don't come running, and I don't answer the phone?
Imagine me not attending the funeral, whenever THAT may be.
I recognize that once I do that, it pretty much galvanizes this wedge--however, on an upnote! No more thankless trips to the Jersey Shore! Win-Win! I also recognize that every weak-assed weasel who has sat silently (while Grandsperm, and then Audrey, and now my sister too, has ABUSED the good will of others), it will no doubt sever what sad little ties remain between us. To that, I say GOOD RIDDANCE!
I'm the only one brave enough to acknowledge the truth--and the truth is, that it's just not important to them to be in my life--or me in theirs. Period!
2016 Will be the year of reciprocity!
2016 Will be the year of me and my needs and feelings.
There is no controlling or rationalizing the behaviors of the players at hand, I'd rather focus on THE NOW, and the things I can change, and ME MYSELF AND I, and to surround myself with friends who care, and who lift me up, or are positive, or at a minimum DO NOT SUCK ALL THE GOOD OUT OF ME, never replenishing what they've taken.
This blog post is full of declarations and good intention, but the reality is, this really is something I actively work on on a moment-by-moment level. Times like this, I wish I didn't have a conscience or a desire for family--but both to me, at this moment, are over-rated, over-idealized and might actually be the very things of which fairy tales are composed.
Sunday, December 27, 2015
Friday, December 25, 2015
Unnecessary Angst
So, I made my obligatory holiday call. And her phone is still apparently, shitting the bed. So I cannot even leave a voicemail. And the angst brews further, as I just want to get it out of the way. I don't even want to call, and why the fuck should I even care? Having a conscience (at times like this) is truly an over-rated thing.
Well I called. And can't leave a message, so that registers as a NO CALL in her book. Doesn't matter the phone doesn't work, and isn't important enough to fix. And I could leave an email--but who knows if she's reading her emails, as it wasn't important enough to her to let me know she finally got her laptop fixed or replaced.
It's been 13 days since I visited her, and a week since the big Family Holiday Fuckfest and no call to give me the details. ANd that's okay. She's obviously avoiding me for a reason and if only I knew what that reason was, I'd be giving her the same treatment I am giving my sister--which if you remember was all at her insistence.
The visit destroyed me. I'm not in a holiday mood. We were invited to a dear friend's house for Christmas day. I don't have it in me to go, and it's too late to bail out politely. Perhaps I'll feel differently after showering. Perhaps. I feel truly empty.
Well I called. And can't leave a message, so that registers as a NO CALL in her book. Doesn't matter the phone doesn't work, and isn't important enough to fix. And I could leave an email--but who knows if she's reading her emails, as it wasn't important enough to her to let me know she finally got her laptop fixed or replaced.
It's been 13 days since I visited her, and a week since the big Family Holiday Fuckfest and no call to give me the details. ANd that's okay. She's obviously avoiding me for a reason and if only I knew what that reason was, I'd be giving her the same treatment I am giving my sister--which if you remember was all at her insistence.
The visit destroyed me. I'm not in a holiday mood. We were invited to a dear friend's house for Christmas day. I don't have it in me to go, and it's too late to bail out politely. Perhaps I'll feel differently after showering. Perhaps. I feel truly empty.
Thursday, December 24, 2015
Unmerry Fucksmas
Eleven days have passed since THOSE PEOPLE had their Holiday Fuckfest. No call from Audrey, either. I did manage to zap my brother a text and asked merely, "Did you go to the party?" That text went unanswered. No text from my aunt. Total silence from all the players. I'd bask in this if I knew what's going on. I can play any game, provided I know what the terms of engagement are.
Each day that ticked by, I thought perhaps Audrey would break down and call, and give me the low down on how the party went. Each day went without a call. Perhaps it's nothing. Perhaps my sister said something horrible--and somehow (because I am no longer willing to participate in this abuse which passes for communication in their world) I am to blame for it.
No. I'm not going to be "the bigger person." I've spent years biting my tongue in all manners for many people, and really I'm burnt out on worrying about the needs and feelings of other people. The only person whose feelings matter to me IS ME at this point. No one else gives a shit about me, so why should I give a shit about anyone else?
So I'm holding out until tomorrow to dispense the holiday call, before we drive to our friends' home to celebrate and feel a part of their family. Hopefully the call won't depress me further.
Eleven days since visiting my mother, and it has left me so emotionally fried and empty, and physically drained, that I have no FESTIVITY in me. The entire experience has drained me and I fear I have nothing to give anyone else. I am trying to power through until our next vacation, and I hope the vacation recharges my emotional battery. HOPE.
This past weekend, while grocery shopping, I picked up a few items to make the stuffed squid recipe (and some octopus and mussels to round out the sauce). I came home from physical therapy on Tuesday night and said, "it's now or never... okay never it is!" and with that, I pitched all of the seafood into the trash heap.
It was nearing day three, and I was starting to get sick at the idea of even smelling the fish or trying to cook it up and lose interest in it, especially the volume of sauce and stuffed squid I was going to make. I am in full on conservation mode, energy wise, and could not find it in me to power through and make it.
Plus there's the olfactory memory connection thing with taste and smell bringing me back to Christmases 25+ years ago when my grandmother would make this dish, and everyone would clamor for one tiny stuffed squid, and dunk hunks of bread into the sauce, all of us hovering over a crock pot keeping the contents warm. The smell. The taste. Bringing me back to a better time, however, those times were rife with its own bullshit, but given how life and our family has pretty much been decimated since then, I cannot even conjure up bittersweet attachments to the sauce and memories. All that remains is the bitter. All that remains is the reminder that if I make up this cauldron of sauce and stuffed squid, there is no one in my family clammoring to enjoy it. All that remains is bitterness and silence.
Eleven days and no call, clearly is a bad omen. Woe to me tomorrow when I make my holiday call--I just hope it doesn't fuck me up further, as I would like to have a nice Christmas day.
Each day that ticked by, I thought perhaps Audrey would break down and call, and give me the low down on how the party went. Each day went without a call. Perhaps it's nothing. Perhaps my sister said something horrible--and somehow (because I am no longer willing to participate in this abuse which passes for communication in their world) I am to blame for it.
No. I'm not going to be "the bigger person." I've spent years biting my tongue in all manners for many people, and really I'm burnt out on worrying about the needs and feelings of other people. The only person whose feelings matter to me IS ME at this point. No one else gives a shit about me, so why should I give a shit about anyone else?
So I'm holding out until tomorrow to dispense the holiday call, before we drive to our friends' home to celebrate and feel a part of their family. Hopefully the call won't depress me further.
Eleven days since visiting my mother, and it has left me so emotionally fried and empty, and physically drained, that I have no FESTIVITY in me. The entire experience has drained me and I fear I have nothing to give anyone else. I am trying to power through until our next vacation, and I hope the vacation recharges my emotional battery. HOPE.
This past weekend, while grocery shopping, I picked up a few items to make the stuffed squid recipe (and some octopus and mussels to round out the sauce). I came home from physical therapy on Tuesday night and said, "it's now or never... okay never it is!" and with that, I pitched all of the seafood into the trash heap.
It was nearing day three, and I was starting to get sick at the idea of even smelling the fish or trying to cook it up and lose interest in it, especially the volume of sauce and stuffed squid I was going to make. I am in full on conservation mode, energy wise, and could not find it in me to power through and make it.
Plus there's the olfactory memory connection thing with taste and smell bringing me back to Christmases 25+ years ago when my grandmother would make this dish, and everyone would clamor for one tiny stuffed squid, and dunk hunks of bread into the sauce, all of us hovering over a crock pot keeping the contents warm. The smell. The taste. Bringing me back to a better time, however, those times were rife with its own bullshit, but given how life and our family has pretty much been decimated since then, I cannot even conjure up bittersweet attachments to the sauce and memories. All that remains is the bitter. All that remains is the reminder that if I make up this cauldron of sauce and stuffed squid, there is no one in my family clammoring to enjoy it. All that remains is bitterness and silence.
Eleven days and no call, clearly is a bad omen. Woe to me tomorrow when I make my holiday call--I just hope it doesn't fuck me up further, as I would like to have a nice Christmas day.
Thursday, December 17, 2015
Whoah, So Fitting
So I'm farting around on the internet looking for George Costanza images/memes, and came across this CHESTNUT, and felt fitting to plunk it down in here. Because YES. Quitter. I come from a long line of quitters, too.
After spending any amount of time either speaking with my mother on the phone or visiting her in person, I am left with the over-whelming realization she's just given up on life. Why else would being housebound be the default? She cannot even walk from her recliner to the front door if someone knocks on the door. She just doesn't give a shit, because people are still bringing the world TO HER, as if we were all her servants.
The idiotic thing here is the fallacy that doing nothing and giving up is the easy route, the path of least resistance. Hell no. It just makes doing whatever you are able to do THAT MUCH HARDER. And the less you do, ultimately, the less you will continue to be able to do.
Her body is jacked up because her doctors neglected her, and SHE neglected herself. At some point she just said, "Oh, hell. I won't bother anymore." She just up and quit DOING AND BEING.
It takes consistency to not go down that same slippery slope. But what other recourse is there? Do nothing and become, essentially Pizza-the-Hut from Spaceballs? A sloppy, insulting hot mess?
Everything I am is 100% in opposition to everything my mother stands for.
Everything I am is 100% in spite of every slight, every insult, every single time my mother has interfered with my life.
Whatever successes or happiness or love or whatever I have in life, is self-made. Beyond her making me and incubating me (for her own selfish reasons), everything I am, is mine and mine alone.
Fuck her.
After spending any amount of time either speaking with my mother on the phone or visiting her in person, I am left with the over-whelming realization she's just given up on life. Why else would being housebound be the default? She cannot even walk from her recliner to the front door if someone knocks on the door. She just doesn't give a shit, because people are still bringing the world TO HER, as if we were all her servants.
The idiotic thing here is the fallacy that doing nothing and giving up is the easy route, the path of least resistance. Hell no. It just makes doing whatever you are able to do THAT MUCH HARDER. And the less you do, ultimately, the less you will continue to be able to do.
Her body is jacked up because her doctors neglected her, and SHE neglected herself. At some point she just said, "Oh, hell. I won't bother anymore." She just up and quit DOING AND BEING.
It takes consistency to not go down that same slippery slope. But what other recourse is there? Do nothing and become, essentially Pizza-the-Hut from Spaceballs? A sloppy, insulting hot mess?
Everything I am is 100% in opposition to everything my mother stands for.
Everything I am is 100% in spite of every slight, every insult, every single time my mother has interfered with my life.
Whatever successes or happiness or love or whatever I have in life, is self-made. Beyond her making me and incubating me (for her own selfish reasons), everything I am, is mine and mine alone.
Fuck her.
Wednesday, December 16, 2015
The Xmas Visit: The Post-Visit Session With My Therapist
The movie History of the World Part I pretty much sums it up thusly:
Similarly, "of course with the birth of any visit involving my family, comes the inevitable afterbirth: The session with my therapist."
This morning I did my post-visit, high speed download of word vomit, leaving my therapist pretty much stupefied by the carelessly cruel insults regarding my food, as well as the insulting thing about my husband. "Wow!" and "Whoah!" were uttered a few times.
And today's session left me with more questions than answers, with "Why am I doing this if it is not fulfilling?" being at the top of that list of questions.
Perhaps my mother is too broken or too lacking in give-a-fuck for social niceties. Perhaps I'm not even deserving of her being nice. All I know is that the trip was physically exhausting, disgusting, disheartening.
The drive of 2.5 hours one way, each way, destroys me enough.
Then add to it the insults.
Then add to that sleeping on a bed with pillows that are filled with saw dust and the lost souls of innocents.
Then add to it the "scent story" and "morning pungency."
Then add to it the morning headache which stayed with me all day.
Then add to is the passive-aggression/stalker bullshit with my sister.
Then add to it my mother's attempts at guilt-ing me or manipulating me to get my niece an Xmas gift.
It all, combined, proved to be more than a bit much for me, and it's taking me more than a couple days to just regroup and re-center myself.
"Why am I doing this if it is not fulfilling?"
I stand by my selfish reasons for doing this. That in a way as an insurance policy when mom dies I won't be questioning myself, and ruing that I should or could have done more. But the reality is, no matter how much I do, or WHAT I do, it'll never be enough, and furthermore, it will never be truly appreciated.
I need to figure this out. I wish I could just stop. Completely.
Fortunately I don't have to figure this out right this moment, today. However, at least moving forward, when I go to visit again after Spring thaw, I won't be staying over, and I won't be bringing food I've made. BOUNDARIES.
Three more days, and it will be a full year since the Shituation commenced.
"And, of course, with the birth of the artist, came the inevitable after birth... The critic."
Similarly, "of course with the birth of any visit involving my family, comes the inevitable afterbirth: The session with my therapist."
This morning I did my post-visit, high speed download of word vomit, leaving my therapist pretty much stupefied by the carelessly cruel insults regarding my food, as well as the insulting thing about my husband. "Wow!" and "Whoah!" were uttered a few times.
And today's session left me with more questions than answers, with "Why am I doing this if it is not fulfilling?" being at the top of that list of questions.
Perhaps my mother is too broken or too lacking in give-a-fuck for social niceties. Perhaps I'm not even deserving of her being nice. All I know is that the trip was physically exhausting, disgusting, disheartening.
The drive of 2.5 hours one way, each way, destroys me enough.
Then add to it the insults.
Then add to that sleeping on a bed with pillows that are filled with saw dust and the lost souls of innocents.
Then add to it the "scent story" and "morning pungency."
Then add to it the morning headache which stayed with me all day.
Then add to is the passive-aggression/stalker bullshit with my sister.
Then add to it my mother's attempts at guilt-ing me or manipulating me to get my niece an Xmas gift.
It all, combined, proved to be more than a bit much for me, and it's taking me more than a couple days to just regroup and re-center myself.
"Why am I doing this if it is not fulfilling?"
I stand by my selfish reasons for doing this. That in a way as an insurance policy when mom dies I won't be questioning myself, and ruing that I should or could have done more. But the reality is, no matter how much I do, or WHAT I do, it'll never be enough, and furthermore, it will never be truly appreciated.
I need to figure this out. I wish I could just stop. Completely.
Fortunately I don't have to figure this out right this moment, today. However, at least moving forward, when I go to visit again after Spring thaw, I won't be staying over, and I won't be bringing food I've made. BOUNDARIES.
Three more days, and it will be a full year since the Shituation commenced.
Tuesday, December 15, 2015
The Xmas Visit: Let No Good Deed Go Unpunished
Given my status as Freddo Corleone, and the fact that this coming weekend (12/19) is the big Family Holiday Fuckfest Extravaganza, I decided to visit my mother last weekend (12/12). Barring any post-holiday health drama in January (always January, why? I haven't a clue), I should be set to visit her again right around Spring thaw, near her birthday in March.
Anyway. In preparation for visiting her, I made a pot roast, an orange-date cake, and a tray of baked french toast. I had a bag of salad, mashed potatoes and some pumpkin puree with roasted root veggies on top too. I did all this on Friday night after work, when any normal person would have just been vegetating, and relaxing. Not me. However, I think this is the last time I go to this degree of preparations. I might even make a shorter visit (not sleep over), too.
The litany of the weekend commenced at 9 a.m., as I had a physical therapy appointment before everything else. And that was the tipping point for me. If I could not drag myself out of bed and get showered and out of the house for THAT, then the entire weekend would not have happened as planned. But fortunately for me, I managed to get to the appointment on time, and get out of there by 11.
From physical therapy, I headed to Jersey. First I stopped in Ho-Ho-Kus to gas up (holy shit! $1.89 a gallon?). I then headed to Delicious Orchards to pick up coffee and cheese and a few what-have-yous--and to stretch my legs and to use the restroom. Then I was off to Walmart, because there's almost always a "Oh, can you get me this" list. And lastly, I arrived there.
If I overlook or omit the dry-heave-inducing aspects of the visit (i.e. the "scent story" layering of urine/ammonia & too many candles & too much Febreeze, coupled up with mom insisting on unwrapping her legs in front of me), I guess it was a nice enough visit--but still had its negatives.
Mind you all the cooking above was for her, not really me, though in honesty, I did reserve two piece of pot roast (at home) for myself. Not one thank you was uttered. Instead, I was informed that my cake was dry (erroneous!), and (last night she informed me that) my pot roast gave her the shits (of course it couldn't POSSIBLY be the box of chocolate covered cherries she inhaled! of course not! Oh and she went into graphic detail about the duration of her alleged pot-roast shits).
Saturday was not without its own little drama. Mom was concerned that my sister would show up while I was there (not sure why she thought this, given the last visit, my sister clearly saw my car in the drive way and just kept driving past the house). So mom enlisted my brother for advice, and he texted my sister and told her this was my weekend. My brother in turn told mom that he likes to remind our sister that the house is mom's (and note: No, mom does not live with my sister or in a mother-daughter arrangement. She lives in a house of her own a half mile away).
That notwithstanding, roughly around 9:30 Saturday night, with the front of the house dark as a tomb, there was a knock at the door. I flooded the house with light and as I got to the door, I heard my niece say, "It's me, I want to show grandma my dress." So I let her in, all the while my sister sat in the car, outside, like a cowardly weasel).
Both, my mother and I were stunned. I felt awkward and unsure of what was transpiring, and was so thrown off kilter, I failed to have the presence of mind to snap a photo of her in this dress. The visit had all the unexpected timing of a drive-by shooting, and before it was done, my niece turned to me and said, "It's good to see you," and hugged me. Which I thought was sweet, but confusing.
So of course, mom and I spent the rest of the evening analyzing what transpired and the possible motivations for it. Mom suspects it was my sister's attempts at an olive branch being extended; whereas I believe the visit was entirely my niece's doing. Also, you don't send a child into a situation/problem caused by adults, and think that's going to fix everything. I viewed this entire thing with a jaundiced eye: that IF it was motivated by my sister, this is not an olive branch, but a means of trying to manipulate me by way of baiting the hook with a big fat worm, expecting ME to make the next move, and call HER. At this point in time, my mother was trying to convince me to get a Barnes & Noble gift card for my niece for Xmas, which, of course, I immediately shot down. I'm not mad at my niece, hell, this has nothing to do with her directly. But my sister used her as a pawn, and I refuse to take the bait and do the same.
My sister has a long wait if she thinks I'm going to call her.
Sunday I awoke to a headache bordering on a migraine (fortunately it never bloomed fully, but tormented me all damned day), and I realized I failed to pack even one spare tablet of migraine medication. I refused the offer of a vicodin because that would ensure I wouldn't get home, or at a minimum I would not be able to finish out my Sunday as planned. And yes, I always have a plan, and I always stick to a set schedule, otherwise the entire day or even the entire weekend will get sucked into a big black hole where time doesn't exist, thus putting me squarely behind the eight ball, playing Beat the Clock, and of course, setting me up to be a flake on other people, with whom I've made plans.
By 11 a.m., still stifling dry heaves and wondering how the day would play out as I was clearly feeling like shit, I forced myself to stick to my schedule. Other people were counting on me, so that's a good motivator (most of the time).
I left her house, headed to Edison to do some Indian grocery shopping, and to pick up some very special take out the Maharajah ordered online. From there, I headed to my great aunt & cousin's house for a visit. And this visit was very nice. My cousin is a year older than I am (actually a first cousin of my mother), and my great aunt (his mom) is actually the sister of my grandfather. The visit was lovely, and he's a superior baker, so I was a bit reluctant to give him the cake I made for him--especially given my mother insisted it was so dry--when clearly it was not.
Three hours later, I begged off and headed home. I didn't want to stay too long and over-stay my welcome, plus I wanted to be on the road while still daylight and in that, I did fail, as I left at dusk, and darkness quickly descended on me while I drove. The drive from there is not normally too demanding, as it's only an hour from my home, but I was tired, and fighting off that headache, and driving with bifocals, and it's now dark, and I felt more than a bit anxious driving home.
I got home totally, physically spent. I immediately heated up some heating pads for my neck, fixed myself a cocktail (a Boulevardier), got situated with some snacks, and called my mother to let her know I got home okay but a longer call would happen Monday night as I was exhausted. And I was. Exhausted.
And on Monday when I called mom to let her know how the visit with our aunt and cousin went, she tried, yet again, to manipulate me into buying a gift for my niece, which I shot down yet again. I could tell there were more things she wanted to say (perhaps things my sister said to her about me). But I did not push. I did not ask, "So, what did she say?" Because in all honesty, I don't give a shit. Ultimately what happened a year ago was both, compounded by years of her bullshit jealousy as well as something utterly stupid which could have been remedied AT THAT TIME, yanno, if she were an adult.
A friend of mine who knows of this SHITuation was listening to a song, Boy With a Gun, recently and it reminded her vividly of the current state of things, and it truly is fitting:
He knows well his wicked ways
A course of bitterness
A grudge held from his childhood days
As if life had loved him less
Reading down his list of names
He ticks them one by one
He points the barrel at the sky
Firing shots off at the sun
Anyway. In preparation for visiting her, I made a pot roast, an orange-date cake, and a tray of baked french toast. I had a bag of salad, mashed potatoes and some pumpkin puree with roasted root veggies on top too. I did all this on Friday night after work, when any normal person would have just been vegetating, and relaxing. Not me. However, I think this is the last time I go to this degree of preparations. I might even make a shorter visit (not sleep over), too.
The litany of the weekend commenced at 9 a.m., as I had a physical therapy appointment before everything else. And that was the tipping point for me. If I could not drag myself out of bed and get showered and out of the house for THAT, then the entire weekend would not have happened as planned. But fortunately for me, I managed to get to the appointment on time, and get out of there by 11.
From physical therapy, I headed to Jersey. First I stopped in Ho-Ho-Kus to gas up (holy shit! $1.89 a gallon?). I then headed to Delicious Orchards to pick up coffee and cheese and a few what-have-yous--and to stretch my legs and to use the restroom. Then I was off to Walmart, because there's almost always a "Oh, can you get me this" list. And lastly, I arrived there.
If I overlook or omit the dry-heave-inducing aspects of the visit (i.e. the "scent story" layering of urine/ammonia & too many candles & too much Febreeze, coupled up with mom insisting on unwrapping her legs in front of me), I guess it was a nice enough visit--but still had its negatives.
Mind you all the cooking above was for her, not really me, though in honesty, I did reserve two piece of pot roast (at home) for myself. Not one thank you was uttered. Instead, I was informed that my cake was dry (erroneous!), and (last night she informed me that) my pot roast gave her the shits (of course it couldn't POSSIBLY be the box of chocolate covered cherries she inhaled! of course not! Oh and she went into graphic detail about the duration of her alleged pot-roast shits).
Saturday was not without its own little drama. Mom was concerned that my sister would show up while I was there (not sure why she thought this, given the last visit, my sister clearly saw my car in the drive way and just kept driving past the house). So mom enlisted my brother for advice, and he texted my sister and told her this was my weekend. My brother in turn told mom that he likes to remind our sister that the house is mom's (and note: No, mom does not live with my sister or in a mother-daughter arrangement. She lives in a house of her own a half mile away).
That notwithstanding, roughly around 9:30 Saturday night, with the front of the house dark as a tomb, there was a knock at the door. I flooded the house with light and as I got to the door, I heard my niece say, "It's me, I want to show grandma my dress." So I let her in, all the while my sister sat in the car, outside, like a cowardly weasel).
Both, my mother and I were stunned. I felt awkward and unsure of what was transpiring, and was so thrown off kilter, I failed to have the presence of mind to snap a photo of her in this dress. The visit had all the unexpected timing of a drive-by shooting, and before it was done, my niece turned to me and said, "It's good to see you," and hugged me. Which I thought was sweet, but confusing.
So of course, mom and I spent the rest of the evening analyzing what transpired and the possible motivations for it. Mom suspects it was my sister's attempts at an olive branch being extended; whereas I believe the visit was entirely my niece's doing. Also, you don't send a child into a situation/problem caused by adults, and think that's going to fix everything. I viewed this entire thing with a jaundiced eye: that IF it was motivated by my sister, this is not an olive branch, but a means of trying to manipulate me by way of baiting the hook with a big fat worm, expecting ME to make the next move, and call HER. At this point in time, my mother was trying to convince me to get a Barnes & Noble gift card for my niece for Xmas, which, of course, I immediately shot down. I'm not mad at my niece, hell, this has nothing to do with her directly. But my sister used her as a pawn, and I refuse to take the bait and do the same.
My sister has a long wait if she thinks I'm going to call her.
Sunday I awoke to a headache bordering on a migraine (fortunately it never bloomed fully, but tormented me all damned day), and I realized I failed to pack even one spare tablet of migraine medication. I refused the offer of a vicodin because that would ensure I wouldn't get home, or at a minimum I would not be able to finish out my Sunday as planned. And yes, I always have a plan, and I always stick to a set schedule, otherwise the entire day or even the entire weekend will get sucked into a big black hole where time doesn't exist, thus putting me squarely behind the eight ball, playing Beat the Clock, and of course, setting me up to be a flake on other people, with whom I've made plans.
By 11 a.m., still stifling dry heaves and wondering how the day would play out as I was clearly feeling like shit, I forced myself to stick to my schedule. Other people were counting on me, so that's a good motivator (most of the time).
I left her house, headed to Edison to do some Indian grocery shopping, and to pick up some very special take out the Maharajah ordered online. From there, I headed to my great aunt & cousin's house for a visit. And this visit was very nice. My cousin is a year older than I am (actually a first cousin of my mother), and my great aunt (his mom) is actually the sister of my grandfather. The visit was lovely, and he's a superior baker, so I was a bit reluctant to give him the cake I made for him--especially given my mother insisted it was so dry--when clearly it was not.
Three hours later, I begged off and headed home. I didn't want to stay too long and over-stay my welcome, plus I wanted to be on the road while still daylight and in that, I did fail, as I left at dusk, and darkness quickly descended on me while I drove. The drive from there is not normally too demanding, as it's only an hour from my home, but I was tired, and fighting off that headache, and driving with bifocals, and it's now dark, and I felt more than a bit anxious driving home.
I got home totally, physically spent. I immediately heated up some heating pads for my neck, fixed myself a cocktail (a Boulevardier), got situated with some snacks, and called my mother to let her know I got home okay but a longer call would happen Monday night as I was exhausted. And I was. Exhausted.
And on Monday when I called mom to let her know how the visit with our aunt and cousin went, she tried, yet again, to manipulate me into buying a gift for my niece, which I shot down yet again. I could tell there were more things she wanted to say (perhaps things my sister said to her about me). But I did not push. I did not ask, "So, what did she say?" Because in all honesty, I don't give a shit. Ultimately what happened a year ago was both, compounded by years of her bullshit jealousy as well as something utterly stupid which could have been remedied AT THAT TIME, yanno, if she were an adult.
A friend of mine who knows of this SHITuation was listening to a song, Boy With a Gun, recently and it reminded her vividly of the current state of things, and it truly is fitting:
He knows well his wicked ways
A course of bitterness
A grudge held from his childhood days
As if life had loved him less
Reading down his list of names
He ticks them one by one
He points the barrel at the sky
Firing shots off at the sun
Monday, December 7, 2015
Thanksgiving: Post-Game Wrap Up
I am a bit remiss in not immediately posting about this; however, figure I might as well share it, as it IS related to the theme of this blog.
Thanksgiving. No. I did not go to my family's Thanksgiving Fuckfest Extravaganza catered entirely by Boston Market. Rather, I hosted a lovely Thanksgiving with six guests, so eight if you include us. Glorious day summed up succinctly by one of the eight year olds in attendance: "B.E.E. -- BEST. EXPERIENCE. EVER."
I can honestly say in 47 years, I have never had that sensation after Thanksgiving with my own family. There were SOME Thanksgivings that were nice-ish, or had some nice aspects to them, but in the last 25 years, the "nice" has been ground down to an imperceptible nub.
So, I no sooner emptied the house of guests and was about to put my feet up when my mother called to give me her report of how her day went. Turns out we both had lovely days. I am not sure if this is a facade or what (on her part), but so far, my aunt and my brother both have confirmed they had a nice time, drama-free in fact!
And of course, mom can't keep a confidence to save her life. She's got to gossip--
My great failure was not asking her at the time the date of the Family Winter Holiday Fuckfest. So, I texted my aunt to find out the date. She was kind of gleeful, "Are you going to it?" And I replied, "No. Don't forget, I'm Freddo Corleone." And she chimed in how we should get together again (as she did in October), and (much like my reply in October) I said, "I'll be going to NYC this coming weekend," she immediately had (yet another) excuse for not being available.
The reality is she lives the closest to me out of everyone in the family and I never see her--and she's mobile. Visiting me is not a priority. I "get" that. OWN IT. 45 minutes is not like I live on Planet Jupiter. It's a do-able drive. And I've stopped doing pop-ins (years ago) when I'd pass through her area, because why should I pop-in? She doesn't do it the countless times she's passed through my neck of the woods. This whole conditional bullshit is endemic to my mother's side of the family.
And much in line with the excuse she had at-the-ready to decline my suggestion we meet in NYC this past weekend, also characteristic of her was the lack of an invitation for me to visit either Xmas Eve (she does the feast of the seven fishes) or Xmas Day or whatever. And that's fine. I've got plans. And even if I didn't have plans, spending the day in my pajamas, or going without pants, and drinking gin based cocktails DOES have its allure.
Twelve more days and it will be a full year of zero communication with my sister. I can intellectualize it. The waste of time. Tomorrow isn't promised to any of us. And she'd rather waste time doing this. However, I can respect it. The silence. But it's not silence. She's using my mother as a go-between. WAFFLING. I hate waffling.
Want me in your life? Fine.
Don't want me in your life? Fine.
Shit or get off the pot. It doesn't matter to me at all.
Thanksgiving. No. I did not go to my family's Thanksgiving Fuckfest Extravaganza catered entirely by Boston Market. Rather, I hosted a lovely Thanksgiving with six guests, so eight if you include us. Glorious day summed up succinctly by one of the eight year olds in attendance: "B.E.E. -- BEST. EXPERIENCE. EVER."
I can honestly say in 47 years, I have never had that sensation after Thanksgiving with my own family. There were SOME Thanksgivings that were nice-ish, or had some nice aspects to them, but in the last 25 years, the "nice" has been ground down to an imperceptible nub.
So, I no sooner emptied the house of guests and was about to put my feet up when my mother called to give me her report of how her day went. Turns out we both had lovely days. I am not sure if this is a facade or what (on her part), but so far, my aunt and my brother both have confirmed they had a nice time, drama-free in fact!
And of course, mom can't keep a confidence to save her life. She's got to gossip--
Mom: "I have something I need to tell you, but you have to promise me you won't tell a soul."
Me: "Who the fuck do I talk to? Anyway--what is the deal? Did J's MS come out of remission?"
Mom: "WHO TOLD YOU THAT? YOUR BROTHER?"
Me: "No. I kinda figured everyone in the family has been waiting the last 15-20 years for 'the other shoe to drop,' so it seemed like an obvious secret you wanted to tell me./endscene
Mom: "Oh. And your sister said that if you were to call her, she doesn't want you to call her because his MS is out of remission."
Me: "She's got a long wait if she thinks I'm going to call her:) SHE is the one who started this great silence, not me. If she wants to speak to/with me, she can pick up the phone herself. Afterall, she started THIS, she can end this."
Mom: "So, when I die, are you going to attend my funeral?"
Me: "That's entirely up to your other daughter, not me."
My great failure was not asking her at the time the date of the Family Winter Holiday Fuckfest. So, I texted my aunt to find out the date. She was kind of gleeful, "Are you going to it?" And I replied, "No. Don't forget, I'm Freddo Corleone." And she chimed in how we should get together again (as she did in October), and (much like my reply in October) I said, "I'll be going to NYC this coming weekend," she immediately had (yet another) excuse for not being available.
The reality is she lives the closest to me out of everyone in the family and I never see her--and she's mobile. Visiting me is not a priority. I "get" that. OWN IT. 45 minutes is not like I live on Planet Jupiter. It's a do-able drive. And I've stopped doing pop-ins (years ago) when I'd pass through her area, because why should I pop-in? She doesn't do it the countless times she's passed through my neck of the woods. This whole conditional bullshit is endemic to my mother's side of the family.
And much in line with the excuse she had at-the-ready to decline my suggestion we meet in NYC this past weekend, also characteristic of her was the lack of an invitation for me to visit either Xmas Eve (she does the feast of the seven fishes) or Xmas Day or whatever. And that's fine. I've got plans. And even if I didn't have plans, spending the day in my pajamas, or going without pants, and drinking gin based cocktails DOES have its allure.
Twelve more days and it will be a full year of zero communication with my sister. I can intellectualize it. The waste of time. Tomorrow isn't promised to any of us. And she'd rather waste time doing this. However, I can respect it. The silence. But it's not silence. She's using my mother as a go-between. WAFFLING. I hate waffling.
Want me in your life? Fine.
Don't want me in your life? Fine.
Shit or get off the pot. It doesn't matter to me at all.
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