A part of still doesn't understand what the fuck happened. So I was late getting home to eat dinner. My Fucking Mother talks to me about finding a picture of my cousin's new baby girl. She tried to get on his Facebook yesterday morning but couldn't. The thing is, I think she started to get upset with me that morning because I had to run out of the house because I needed to get my driver's license changed. (I was going to blog post about that, but, uh, circumstances changed.)
She really, really wanted to see a photo of the baby, for some reason. After some agitated back-and-forth, I told her I'd get on that. Then she immediately flipped to another subject, one that blindsided me and one that I still don't quite get. "Are you on your niece's group?" My Fucking Mother asked me.
"What group?" I asked.
"Your niece's group."
"Mom, what group?"
"DON'T YELL AT ME! OH MY GOD, I WANT TO COME OVER AND HIT YOU WITH THIS FRYING PAN!"
And in my mind I'm going, what the fuck? How did me asking a question turn into me yelling at her? If anything, she was yelling at me. She yells. She's a yeller. Always has been.
I tried to reason with her -- "Mom, are you talking about a group on Facebook? A text? What?" But she was off on this rant, pointing the pan she had in her hand at my face and still threatening to beat me over the head with it because I was "disrespecting" her or some shit. She can't beat me around like she did when I was young, however, so I defended myself: "Don't you even dare." At which point this fucking crazy bitch comes around the kitchen. I get up off my chair and stare her down, trying to listen to her insane ramblings about how I don't appreciate her cooking and how I treat this place only as a hotel or some shit. The disrespect card is shit My Fucking Father pulls, not her.
I still cannot comprehend what she's talking about. I can only think missing photos of newborn family members triggers something in her. And possibly the "disrespect" card comes from the fact that I give off this bothered attitude every time she asks me for something. I will cop to that; yes, it annoys me often when My Fucking Mother asks me for something. But I don't think I need to help out with a shit-eating grin on my face when my whole life, when I've asked for something, My Fucking Mother (both my parental units actually) couldn't seem bothered to smile either. Also, let's look at the bullshit My Fucking Mother asks me to do. Invoicing, even though I get pissed when she lays down invoice after invoice without telling me how many invoices she needs me to proofread, is a legitimate ask. But downloading an app, or asking how to play this game on her phone, or trying to set up her brand-new iPhad are not asks, especially if I don't know how to work them. My Fucking Mother is a teenager, if not a kid, whose retirement seems to be filled with games she plays, and she's regressed to a juvenile attitude where, if I can't get something to operate correctly and immediately, she accuses me of not caring.
Well, I don't care. I fucking don't. And despite what My Fucking Father seems to be advising, I'm not going to give in to her spiteful attitude and profusely apologize. Fuck that cunt! I need to tip-toe around her crazy moods whenever she feels like lashing out? This landmark argument got so bad that, when she told me I have three months to move out of the house, I thought, OK. I have no way of supporting myself, and I will be out on the street within a month. But if that means I don't have to put up with this batshit-crazy bullshit anymore, man, I'm totally fine with it. Because My Fucking Mother is fucking nuts.
We'll see if she takes her pills in the morning. In the meantime I am falling back into placating her bitch ass. I wonder if I should ask my cousin to bring her daughter to the house. I won't be there. Fuck that, I need to stay the fuck away from her.
(Aside: This out-of-the-blue temper tantrum, along with the myriad requests in the past to help her set up her toys, makes me think that she will develop Alzheimer's. Just saying.)
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