Now It's Mother's Turn To Yell At Me

I still need work at the MRI at the U. to shore up my expenses.  But when I was told I got a session this (Monday) night at 9, I kind of thought, Oh, shit.  Because how am I going to explain to my parents that I'm going to work so late, especially when I have to wake up the next morning?

The only thing I had was to use the same excuse I used when I went back to the party that I eventually did not go back to: I was called in to help at the U.  So I bolt downstairs and tell Mother, who was rooting around her closet, that I had to go.

I am always prepared to see my folks go ballistic whenever I say anything they don't like, because much of what I say they don't like.  But even I wasn't ready for how she reacted.  The only positive I could take away from this was to further parse what fucked-up parts of me come from Mother instead of Father.

First, she asks if I'm getting triple pay for this.  No, I said.  Then she accused me of favoring my "boss" over them: "You talk to your boss like he your father, and then you talk to Father and me like we're another person."  That makes no sense, but I understand what she meant ... and still made no fucking sense.

But then the bitch really lays into me, dragging out a conversation about my car.  "Did you take the car to the dealer yet?"  No, I said -- I've been fucking busy.  "I remind you already.  It winter," she harped, "I worry about you.  I take care of you, you don't take care of yourself."

OK, so that she thinks I value this mythical supervisor over them shows that I get my inferiority complex from Mother.  Doesn't matter if it's true, that's not the issue here.  Her guilt trip reminds me of the times my folks got into arguments with each other and quickly Father turns to me and says, "She crazy."  What I mean by that is, HOW IN THE FUCK DOES GOING TO WORK FOR A COUPLE HOURS MEAN I CAN'T GODDAMN TAKE CARE OF MYSELF?!?!?!  HOW THE FUCK DO YOU GET FROM ONE THOUGHT TO THE OTHER?!?!?!  So maybe he's right and she's crazy, therefore they're both crazy.

"This is second time I tell you to take the car to the dealer, now this is the third time," Mother said, and ah!  This is the Mother I know and have hated all my life.  The one with the threats and the ultimatums, the one who throws around warnings in spite of her not knowing that Father is thinking of putting the Mercedes in operation and refusing to believe the car is running condition.  Because you know what?  Since she fucking harped on the whole car, I'm going to stick my neck out and say that the car is running fine, and that it'll definitely last another winter.  The window might be a problem, but hey, if it's just a regulator, I'll pay the $300 for it.  Fuck you, Mother, I will not take this beautiful car that stores all my good memories of childhood to the crusher, at least not yet.  I'll just tell you I did to fucking get you off my back, OK?

And now I will go the fuck to sleep.