I should be writing Spic and Span: a recent history of being clean, my upcoming exhibition. It's about attitude to cleanliness, hygiene and the "freeing" of a woman's time* through mechanisation that took off between 1920 and 1960. I should be all over this show. I should be having a great time writing it.
Except I can't focus on it at all.
Partly, there's an air of chaotic hilarity at work because naturally things are effing up all over when it should be a nice quiet week. Mostly it's because Glenn will be bringing my mom and her cat to stay with us for Christmas. I am distracted because I am thinking about what we'll be doing while she's here - I have all next week off - and we always have a lot of fun together.
I'm also thinking about what new ways we'll piss each other off. I don't know what's going on, but we're bickering a lot lately. It's not our fun, mutual snarking and teasing, but really unpleasant sniping. Mom accuses me of bullying her because I get mad when she lays guilt on me. She says that guilt is something I am projecting because of something lacking in me when really she's simply expressing her feelings. But this writes off my own feelings and puts the onus entirely on me, which is unfair. She also has suggested that recently, it's been like talking to teenaged-me, which is REALLY not fair, or true. If I ever become that person again, ever, please lock me up for the good of society.
Yes, I guess I'm not the most attentive daughter in the world. No, I don't comment on every blog/lj/fb post she makes. No, I don't call as often as I should. I know she's alone and I am her only daughter, but what she doesn't realise is that I'm not calling anyone, or answering every post out there. When has she asked me if I'm okay or is everything all right? She actually hasn't. I don't turn around and tell her off for it, though. We lead separate lives in separate places. It's not as she thinks, that I'm brushing her off or she's not my priority.
She is one of my priorities. One of a few priorities that pull in different directions. And yes, I feel shitty that I can't give all the attention I want to her and maybe that makes me neglectful. I think about things like living in a duplex with her, but she won't leave friends and familiarities of Peterborough, and for now (and in the forseeable future) I really can't see me moving there. I think about how to organise my future life to maximise use of our cottage so we can be there together. I think about what if something happens to her all the time. I know she doesn't want me to dwell on things like that, but I do. There you go.
Anyway, I will make a real effort not to get defensive. She'll be here for 10 days, so hopefully this will give us time to sort out whatever is getting in the way of our relationship, but I have a feeling that the "whatever" is probably me having an increasing number of grown-up responsibilities and stressors that get under my skin and take me away from the things that really matter most. Short of quitting my job, selling my stuff and moving home again, I can't really think how to stop those things from taking over my life. I nap a lot, which is an excellent form of escapism, whereas calling my mom probably makes me feel I should be telling her about the things I don't want to think about. Maybe that's why I don't call as much as I should. *sigh*
And yes, she can read this, just as I can read her blog posts wherein she writes about her concerns and hurts. Even if I have trouble expressing this stuff to my mom verbally, this is the stuff that's going on in my head, even when it seems I don't care.
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About Me
- kingmisha
- I'm bigger than a pile of breadboxes, but smaller than a Sherman tank. I'm overeducated, underpaid but very content with my life. I have loved infrequently but intensely. I dated a poet, divorced a Dean, had an affair with a jazz pianist, was engaged to a diplomat, and widowed by my child's father. The men in my life were all very special. Not all grand passions but much loved in their time: Leonard Cohen, Alfred Pinsky, Billy Horn, Wendell Goodin, and Elliot Hirschman. Thanks for the memories... I'm a lapsed artist which doesn't really trouble me because I'm a very successful parent. I lacked the requisite conceit to persevere as an artist. I just couldn't make myself believe that my art came before my child. The world really doesn't need another sculptor (even a good one), but it does need another good human being. It can use all the good human beings we can turn out. I present Mambolica as my evidence so judge for yourselves.