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2003-07-23 - 7:04 p.m.

"You know sometimes when a girl has a mate for a while she no longer makes an effort with her appearance and then the man might get bored."

--Advice from my mother

Ahoy, Mom! First of all, we're not sailors; he's not my mate, he's my boyfriend. Secondly, I never made an effort before. I'm not a makeup wearing, hair styling, gussying kind of a gal. As my mother aren't you supposed to think I'm beautiful just as I am and want me to do whatever makes ME happy not live my life to please "my mate"?

Grrr....this weekend was all about my mother and I inflicting pain on each other.

How many times can you start a sentence with, "I love my mother but..."

...she's histrionic and neurotic.

...she brings out the evil in me.

....she's got every fault I hate about myself and spending time with her is a constant reminder of that.

...she drives me insane the way only your mother can!

There's four for a start. Now, my mother is, without a doubt, sincerely the nicest person I have ever known. She wouldn't hurt a fly, say an unkind word about a friend, turn you away in time of need, or let you pick up the check no matter how little savings she has.

But she is also guilt ridden, indecisive, lacking self esteem, a doormat to the nth degree, easily hurt and both suspicious and fearful.

All weekend long she would voice concerns that were so ridiculous in nature that I couldn't stop myself from speaking.

Example one: The window in the country house wouldn't close so she went to sleep with a knife under the pillow "in case a lunatic came through the window to kill her." -In a town where people don't lock their doors.

Example two: A woman was dragging her screaming child from the farmer's market saying, "We're going to have a time out in the car" My mother worries aloud, "I hope she's not going to leave the windows closed!" in an alarmed voice. When I scoff she says, "You know, Ethel, you act like I'm an idiot sometimes." To which there was no good reply.

Three: She worried for about half an hour about whether the waitress got the money that I had left with the check on the table. To this I could only reply but taking her to see the flea market where, overnight, instead of taking in their wares the sellers simply covered the tables with a tarp.

It went on and on like this, each of us getting more frustrated by the other until it resulted in a heated argument in the car about how I felt her visible (and audible) reactions to my driving were distracting. Then ended with neither of us speaking for the rest of the two hours drive home. We still haven't spoken.

I really and truly wanted for her to have a nice weekend. For us to enjoy each other's company but somehow it just never turns out that way. We can only last so long without destroying each other's esteem. I've got it timed out as eight hours. Anything past that and we blow it.

Sigh! I feel like such a horrible person for thinking about it...but I can't help but think how different my life would be if my father had lived instead. I'm certain that he would have remarried and probably we would get along better because we never really had to try too hard.

Or if they both were alive then naturally life would be much easier all around. These are the things I pondered when I accompanied my mother to Mass...that and how I felt it too hypocritical to even give lip service to the prayers. I felt the priest's eyes on me and one old man refused my hand at the sign of peace but maybe that was just my imagination.

I felt deep urge to weep during that service because it reminded me of how much easier life felt when I could believe in god. How I wish I could again. . . but I can't. That time is gone, just like my father.

That's life though. Times change and we either change with them or we erode like rocks to sand.

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