Doesn't Take Much For My Fucking Mother To Push My Buttons

I needed to talk to her last/Monday night about bills that came in.  I thought everything was done.  But she called back.  First of all, she called back during the weather forecast I wanted to watch, so that perturbed me.  Second of all, she worried about some stupid detail that she told me to take care of, namely writing checks instead of going online and paying herself.  And finally, she insulted me by explaining something to me that I already know and was also not what I was talking about.  That is probably due to the language barrier, but also because this happens all the time, I naturally get defensive about her condescension.

And I was being a good boy food-wise up till then.  I didn't drink any coffee at work; instead, I had a hot cocoa (given to me by my former supervisor two or three years ago) in the morning and tea in the afternoon.  After shoveling the driveway, I went out to use a gift card at a really nice brewery for chicken wings and two 5-ounce glass of different beers (plus a half-filled 5-ounce glass for free ... er, double free!!)  I thought I controlled my eating yesterday/Monday.  And then My Fucking Mother talks down to me and I'm wolfing down Dot's BBQ pretzel sticks to fill the hole she punched into my gut, and I feel all fat again.  Goddamn her.

She wants me to write and send out the checks in the morning.  I'll do it later tonight instead.  Because she can fuck all the way off.