"can't you hear the ocean?" as she leaned her ear against a shotgun shell
So I got off work tonight--fifteen minutes late, because Amy asked me to finish stocking the candles and I have a history of breaking them so I put them up one at a freaking time because I'm paranoid like that--and Mom's there to pick me up.
And she starts off brightly with, "So how much money do you need next quarter?" (I owe about $500 more than I have right now.) And immediately it becomes a lecture on how I wasted the last two quarters of college and I better get my thesis done because I am not spending an extra quarter at OU and I have to write a chapter of my thesis every two weeks and and and. Ugh. I just did not fucking need that. Somehow a ten-minute trip with a five-minute trip into town lasted 35 minutes. Time literally slowed down so that she could berate me longer.
I seriously almost asked her to let me out. Just stop the fucking car and let me out, because knowing I've disappointed Mom makes me feel even worse than knowing I've disappointed myself, and just...FUCK. I could have used a nice walk in the dark and drizzle, too. I was in that kind of mood.
But I'm okay now, as evinced by the icon, of which I am inordinately proud. If "shuai" does not rhyme with "gay," I don't want to hear it. I think it's clever, and that's enough for now. Mom and I have sort of tacitly made up, in the "I'm-not-sorry-I-yelled-at-you-but-I'm-sorry-you're-so-upset" way, and there was spaghetti and garlic bread left over for dinner.
Also, I am trying to compose "Have Yourself a Pagan Little Solstice" for Lisa. Only it might turn out to be "Roman Saturnalia" instead of "Pagan Little Solstice," because those Romans really knew how to party.