Oh look, more issues with my mother.
Dear Mom,
I recognize that you're trying to protect me. I understand why you've been drilling this into me since I was sixteen. I know that some people have betrayed you in the past and you don't want that for me.
However.
Please stop giving me lectures about how someone I've known for three years (albeit on the internet) should be treated with skepticism. Yes, I'm going to be on vacation in her area in a few months. Yes, I'm going to meet her. No, she isn't a 50-year-old pervert, I've talked with her on the phone, I've run around her entire family and won them all over, it's not like her uncle's using her email address.
No, really.
Really.
This is a person who recognized something beautiful in me when I was fifteen and couldn't see it for myself. When no one else was looking. I would not be this well-adjusted (which I'm not, much, but I'm happy most of the time) if she hadn't been with me through some pretty upsetting things. Most of which you put me through, mother.
I've taken her for granted, and I've horribly abused her trust and affection for me in the past on a whim. That's my fault and that's my own cruelty, and she forgave me. She lets me ramble about stories! She giggles. She knows a part of me that's obsessed with new fandoms and stupid capslock jokes and snarky dorks. That's a massive chunk of myself and my interests that you either merely suspect or just plain don't know about.
Yes, over the years our fandoms have changed and diverged. She followed me into an irrational love of a homosexual incestuous couple, even if she doesn't see the appeal. She listens to me rave about bandom, and does her best to keep everyone straight in her head. We don't necessarily have the same interests, but writing for her has kept me in some of my oldest genres and shows, the ones that I watched to get a break from life and now re-watch for nostalgia. She could ask me just about anything, and I would do my best to supply her.
Some of my most beautiful and creative work with words has come from trying to outdo myself and impress her as my audience. I would not be the writer I am without her, and I might not have made it through four incredibly lonely years of high school if I couldn't find someone who cared on the other side of a screen.
Jesus Christ, mother, I'm at least a little bit in love with this woman. I know that I can't say it to you in so many words, but seriously, I'm not going to hold my sister's hand throughout meeting my friend for the first time. I hope my sister will let me either rely on my own sense of trust or make my own mistakes, because God knows you'll never let me try.
Fuck you and fuck your dissertation. If you could trust me to help you get a doctorate when I was sixteen, why couldn't you support my only real friendship at the same age?
TL;DR: Alice, I love you. I'll see you in May.
I recognize that you're trying to protect me. I understand why you've been drilling this into me since I was sixteen. I know that some people have betrayed you in the past and you don't want that for me.
However.
Please stop giving me lectures about how someone I've known for three years (albeit on the internet) should be treated with skepticism. Yes, I'm going to be on vacation in her area in a few months. Yes, I'm going to meet her. No, she isn't a 50-year-old pervert, I've talked with her on the phone, I've run around her entire family and won them all over, it's not like her uncle's using her email address.
No, really.
Really.
This is a person who recognized something beautiful in me when I was fifteen and couldn't see it for myself. When no one else was looking. I would not be this well-adjusted (which I'm not, much, but I'm happy most of the time) if she hadn't been with me through some pretty upsetting things. Most of which you put me through, mother.
I've taken her for granted, and I've horribly abused her trust and affection for me in the past on a whim. That's my fault and that's my own cruelty, and she forgave me. She lets me ramble about stories! She giggles. She knows a part of me that's obsessed with new fandoms and stupid capslock jokes and snarky dorks. That's a massive chunk of myself and my interests that you either merely suspect or just plain don't know about.
Yes, over the years our fandoms have changed and diverged. She followed me into an irrational love of a homosexual incestuous couple, even if she doesn't see the appeal. She listens to me rave about bandom, and does her best to keep everyone straight in her head. We don't necessarily have the same interests, but writing for her has kept me in some of my oldest genres and shows, the ones that I watched to get a break from life and now re-watch for nostalgia. She could ask me just about anything, and I would do my best to supply her.
Some of my most beautiful and creative work with words has come from trying to outdo myself and impress her as my audience. I would not be the writer I am without her, and I might not have made it through four incredibly lonely years of high school if I couldn't find someone who cared on the other side of a screen.
Jesus Christ, mother, I'm at least a little bit in love with this woman. I know that I can't say it to you in so many words, but seriously, I'm not going to hold my sister's hand throughout meeting my friend for the first time. I hope my sister will let me either rely on my own sense of trust or make my own mistakes, because God knows you'll never let me try.
Fuck you and fuck your dissertation. If you could trust me to help you get a doctorate when I was sixteen, why couldn't you support my only real friendship at the same age?
TL;DR: Alice, I love you. I'll see you in May.