The Diary of Queen Mothy |
Huzzah for Spring Break! written @ 10:08 PM on March 03, 2005 I met my dad's new girlfriend last night. The name Omah, as it turns out, is suspiciously Swedish. She's a very mild woman, and very nice it seems to me. I don't mind her; she's a good soul. Dad took us out to dinner at Longhorn, and it was there that she told me she used to be a graphic designer before she turned to psychiatric nursing. "One extreme to another," that's what she said. People who switch their majors from art to-- hell, I dunno-- chemistry are peculiar people because heaven only knows what their thought process was when they "decided" to do one thing or the other. She has two kids, a girl at seven and a boy at five. I remind her of her daughter, and my brother reminds me of her son, and, like my brother and me, her kids are only three years apart so go figure. She works at a psych ward as a nurse or something. A couple of days ago there was a story on the news about a mother killing her kid, and guess who's the nurse to that patient? Oh yes, there's always an interesting story behind a mild disposition, I'm coming to find. "And that's all I am allowed to tell you," she said. Enough said. While she was at the restroom, I asked my dad how old she was, and he was reluctant to tell me because he thinks that I think he's going through a mid-crisis, which he vehemently denies. Yeah right. And the pope ain't Catholic either? Finally he told me that she was 35-- over 20 years his junior. *sigh* Well, at least she's not 21, right? Later that night he admitted he was really nervous about the evening. My brother met her and the kids, and he was okay with her, but somehow Dad was very apprehensive about my opinion. Truth of the matter is I'm perfectly at peace with the idea of my parents dating other people, and I'm relieved that I'm relieved, if that makes any sense. Done a lot of thinking about it in between writing entries here, remembering how less than six months ago the idea alone was an open wound on my heart. But if they're ready for life to go on, I'm ready too. As for my mom's beau, Paul has temporarily stepped out of the picture because his brother is dying of brain cancer. Understandably the man has a lot on his mind, and my mom is giving him space for the time being. My brother and his girlfriend are still together. OMG!! There is such a story there but I am not allowed to even think about writing about it yet. Trust me, though, it's ten times more entertaining than the night I walked in on them in bed together! So with everyone else in the family "with someone," that leaves me--forever a solitary soul and very much enjoying the freedom. My friends Lindsay and Christine, however, claim that they found The Boy for me, and they are so convinced of this that they refuse to even let me meet him for fear of "messing future events up." You see, a while ago my posse gave me a Tarot reading. I am heartily against love readings, but they were insistant on giving me one anyway to satisfy their own morbid curiosity, I imagine, and the results of the reading were that I would meet The Boy on campus briefly, I would forget about him, and then we would meet eight or nine years later (this reading was about two years ago, so if it is meant to be, I have seven years left of freedom). Other traits of The Boy: he's a businessman-- Wall Street-esque character or the like-- somewhat attractive, a tiny bit older, Republican parents, the "Greg to my Dharma." Fast forward to a month ago: one of Lindsay's ex-boyfriends, a chap name Joe studying to be a CPA, eerily fit the description in Lindsay and Christine's books. Liz claims I met the boy last month, but damned if I remember meeting him. I wouldn't know him if I met the guy on an empty street. Thus, already half the "prophecy" has come true by me conveniently forgetting about The Boy. Ironically, I have no idea what the point of me writing this was. I guess it's something to think about. *** I have no more classes this week, so technically I am on spring break. I'm not leaving college to go home until tomorrow afternoon, though, because I want to finish three sunset paintings I've been working on. Am I going anywhere spring break, you ask? Yup. My basement. To catch up on all the painting I haven't been able to do. Don't worry, I'll relax too. I've already begun doing so by engaging in the oh-so-addictive Space Cadet Pinball game on my PC, instead of writing a paper and doing a graphic design project due after spring break like I'm supposed to be doing. My record is 12 million points. I dare you to top it. On the other hand, I have other trips in the works. I'm going to Pittsburgh in April with the art club. We're visiting the museums, the galleries, and, oh yes, IKEA. I've caught the travel bug, it seems, which means I go anywhere not on campus. In conclusion, if you've kept up with me thus far, oh patient readers, spring break means one other thing: when Mother begins to nag, the drama at home continues. And with me there, it keeps getting better and better.
A Bit of History ~ And Onward! L'Amour Toujours! - August 08, 2005 |
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