All I wanted to do was ask because I was concerned.
OK, so in the blog post I posted, like, two hours ago I said that Mother wanted my help printing some things at the library. Just before leaving today (I am at Diamonds right now on the way to the Vikings game) I asked Mother if everything went well.
To which she replied, and I paraphrase: "You did not tell me about the other bills! They were in the big envelope! You were supposed to put them together! I find them but I got so confused! I paid the bills before I put them together! You're supposed to put them together!"
Normal, well-adjusted mothers would say something to the effect of, "Those other bills came in. They were in the big envelope. I don't know why they all didn't come in that one envelope. But it's all good." But I don't have a normal, well-adjusted mother. I have a bitch.
What I did was ask her if she was able to pay everything, which was the point of all this. And then I turned around, gave her the finger, and said under my breath, "That's what I get for asking.". But honestly, I am roiling inside. Angry at her, and angry at myself for walking into her trap. That fucker does this shit all the time -- blaming me for things that happen to her and, on top of that, communicating that in a way that is nothing more than finger-pointing. I guess I missed that the bills were shipped in a different envelope. But it ain't such a huge goddamn deal when you had all of them together, and it doesn't really matter if you were able to pay all the bills you need to pay, does it?
I can't let this stand. My Fucking Mother has to know this bullshit she pulls is not OK. But I don't want to go on and on about this because this will affect my frame of mind. It already is; I kind of got into it with a couple of cars on the streets on my way here to Diamonds. And I have to go to work and I know I'll have to deal with other stressors there which, once they trigger me, will pull me back to what this cunt did to me just now and it'll take my damndest to not spiral into an argument.
My "comeback," such as it is: Just before I left the house I took the Sharpie out of my bag, went back upstairs and, with My Fucking Mother right there in the kitchen, crossed out a date on the calendar indicating I am not coming home for dinner that day. It's not satisfying because it's passive-aggressive, but I don't think I'm smart enough to do something more direct. I'll refuse her food when I am eating dinner tomorrow, or something.
Process through, and try to let go.
OK, so in the blog post I posted, like, two hours ago I said that Mother wanted my help printing some things at the library. Just before leaving today (I am at Diamonds right now on the way to the Vikings game) I asked Mother if everything went well.
To which she replied, and I paraphrase: "You did not tell me about the other bills! They were in the big envelope! You were supposed to put them together! I find them but I got so confused! I paid the bills before I put them together! You're supposed to put them together!"
Normal, well-adjusted mothers would say something to the effect of, "Those other bills came in. They were in the big envelope. I don't know why they all didn't come in that one envelope. But it's all good." But I don't have a normal, well-adjusted mother. I have a bitch.
What I did was ask her if she was able to pay everything, which was the point of all this. And then I turned around, gave her the finger, and said under my breath, "That's what I get for asking.". But honestly, I am roiling inside. Angry at her, and angry at myself for walking into her trap. That fucker does this shit all the time -- blaming me for things that happen to her and, on top of that, communicating that in a way that is nothing more than finger-pointing. I guess I missed that the bills were shipped in a different envelope. But it ain't such a huge goddamn deal when you had all of them together, and it doesn't really matter if you were able to pay all the bills you need to pay, does it?
I can't let this stand. My Fucking Mother has to know this bullshit she pulls is not OK. But I don't want to go on and on about this because this will affect my frame of mind. It already is; I kind of got into it with a couple of cars on the streets on my way here to Diamonds. And I have to go to work and I know I'll have to deal with other stressors there which, once they trigger me, will pull me back to what this cunt did to me just now and it'll take my damndest to not spiral into an argument.
My "comeback," such as it is: Just before I left the house I took the Sharpie out of my bag, went back upstairs and, with My Fucking Mother right there in the kitchen, crossed out a date on the calendar indicating I am not coming home for dinner that day. It's not satisfying because it's passive-aggressive, but I don't think I'm smart enough to do something more direct. I'll refuse her food when I am eating dinner tomorrow, or something.
Process through, and try to let go.
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