still not a Christian... but my mother /might/ be Satan.
Today my phone played "Masters of the Universe" by Queen.
I've come to fear this song. It's my default ring-tone. I either don't know this person or don't like them enough to give them their own ringtone. No good can come of it.
I missed the call because the phone was charging in another room. I checked my missed calls and... Fuck... Mom. Well, I'd hoped to get some cleaning done today, but nope. It's a fun-filled evening of phone-tag for me!
Well, less of a phone-tag. More phone-red rover. Except, I haven't called anyone over. They're just singling me out and running at me, hoping to crit for maximum damage.
I have a rule, a rule that my mother either keeps forgetting or is incapable of understanding: I DO NOT CALL HER TO CHAT. She's a miserable, monstrosity of a woman. After everything she's done to me, I'm not comfortable calling her up like we have a loving mother/daughter relationship. I wish we did. We don't. We sooooo don't.
So most of her calls generally begin with an angry, "I wish you cared enough to call me." When I don't apologize, she invariably hangs up on me.
I get a call 30mins - 2hours later where she either, A) Apologizes B) Claims her phone went dead. C) Starts bitching again. Tonight it was a rare mix of B and C, and... I really need a flow chart for this routine of hers.
Long story short: What followed was a series of hanging up and calling back that ended in her screaming that she would never call me ever again. This has happened before. And, sure, it pisses me off. And, sure, I wish she'd get her own shit together. And sure it depresses me that this person who abused me most of my life and still wants to drag me down with her is the only relative outside of an uncle, an aunt, and a few cousins that I have left... Buuuut, at the the same time it makes me a little happy, a little proud, and incredibly relieved that, a couple of years ago, when she told me to get out of her house - I did.
And while I'm still bummed that it probably cost me a college education - I'm a writer. I can turn past traumas into witty analogies. Cower before me all you unimportant people with your fancy laptops and and your expensive text books! I have life experience, and the exchange rate shall be epic.
I've come to fear this song. It's my default ring-tone. I either don't know this person or don't like them enough to give them their own ringtone. No good can come of it.
I missed the call because the phone was charging in another room. I checked my missed calls and... Fuck... Mom. Well, I'd hoped to get some cleaning done today, but nope. It's a fun-filled evening of phone-tag for me!
Well, less of a phone-tag. More phone-red rover. Except, I haven't called anyone over. They're just singling me out and running at me, hoping to crit for maximum damage.
I have a rule, a rule that my mother either keeps forgetting or is incapable of understanding: I DO NOT CALL HER TO CHAT. She's a miserable, monstrosity of a woman. After everything she's done to me, I'm not comfortable calling her up like we have a loving mother/daughter relationship. I wish we did. We don't. We sooooo don't.
So most of her calls generally begin with an angry, "I wish you cared enough to call me." When I don't apologize, she invariably hangs up on me.
I get a call 30mins - 2hours later where she either, A) Apologizes B) Claims her phone went dead. C) Starts bitching again. Tonight it was a rare mix of B and C, and... I really need a flow chart for this routine of hers.
Long story short: What followed was a series of hanging up and calling back that ended in her screaming that she would never call me ever again. This has happened before. And, sure, it pisses me off. And, sure, I wish she'd get her own shit together. And sure it depresses me that this person who abused me most of my life and still wants to drag me down with her is the only relative outside of an uncle, an aunt, and a few cousins that I have left... Buuuut, at the the same time it makes me a little happy, a little proud, and incredibly relieved that, a couple of years ago, when she told me to get out of her house - I did.
And while I'm still bummed that it probably cost me a college education - I'm a writer. I can turn past traumas into witty analogies. Cower before me all you unimportant people with your fancy laptops and and your expensive text books! I have life experience, and the exchange rate shall be epic.