No, I Don't Want To Know When

It's been over a week since I spoke to my parents.  And when I say that, I mean literally speak to them.  Since then I have been in contact with them, through text.  I usually do that, and only do that, when there is a letter regarding an issue with one of their properties for which Mother needs some idea of what's going on, and telling her just won't cut it.

But over the past week bills have been sent.  Usually I just get on the phone and tell Mother that, hey, this bill came in and it's for such-and-such an amount.  I also tell her about checks that have come in, but when the latest one came over a week ago ... well, I just texted her that it's here.  And she was fine with it.  Then, a couple bills came and I figured this is something Mother needs to know about, so I texted her to call me, but I didn't hear from her the rest of the evening.  OK, this is unusual.  And I didn't want to wait to call after work the next day, so I texted her the nature and amount of these two bills at work the next day, and she said she would take care of it.  Not going to lie, I am in a texting mood now, so the bills that have come in since I have only told her through text.

Yes, it's easier.  But I have to admit that the real reason I am now texting her is that I don't want to hear her tell me that they're coming home.  They should be coming home by now.  And don't get me wrong.  When I say "should," I don't mean that it's the right thing to do, or it's preferable.  I mean that they've been gone over half a year, and they say they would be coming back, so logic would dictate they would mean what they say and be back.  Now, they usually summer here in Minnesota, and they didn't do that.  Mother later said they'd return in August, and obviously that's not the case.  They have said they want to come back to look at the mail that's accumulated, or to start working on a new roof, or figuring out what to do with the minivan, or to see that the trash is now being picked up.  But they're not here -- at least not yet.

Still, I have had this creeping fear that, as time marches forward, the inevitable end of me having the whole house to myself has to come.  Surely, they would be making a decision now that it's Labor Day ... even though, and I may be pointing this out to myself in order to give myself hope, generally this is the time of the year my parents leave Minnesota.  And hey, maybe they realized they just want to stay out there, and that there is no reason to come back since everything is hunky dory, and it is hunky dory here right now.  But I feel like I'm tied to a conveyor belt with my legs spread open with a laser beam ready to zap my genitals, like that scene in Goldfinger.  If/When they tell me, I have so much shit I need to do -- pack up all my things (and I am visually overwhelmed with all the packing I'll have to do ... my goodness it's a lot), take them to storage, and clean, clean, clean.  I don't have the time to do that, I don't have the energy to do that, and I frankly don't have the will to do that.  So I don't talk to Mother nowadays because being incommunicado with her lets me leave all my stuff out where I want.  And that is a ... don't want to say a fiction, but a situation I've created in order to make me feel good about myself.  As long as she doesn't tell me they're returning, I get to live how I feel.  So I don't talk to her because that way, she can't tell me anything.

You know, this is something I would talk to my psychiatrist about.  God, I could use someone to talk to about my anxiety right now.