The Diary of Queen Mothy |
Crone, Mother, Maiden written @ 10:08 PM on October 28, 2002 After typing my entry last night, I spent the rest of the evening downloading and installing a Harry Potter desktop theme. My hourglass is now Professor Snape morphing into Professor McGonagall morphing into Professor Dumbledore morphing into Hermione morphing into... And then my "waiting" cursor is a flying golden snitch. The regular pointer cursor is a magic wand. And the sounds, oh, the sounds! In a word, "magic." November 15 this year is a national holiday. The posse has to get together so we can all go see the movie and get this obsession out of my system. 17 days, darlings. I'm thinking of cutting class. The day was pleasant, but rather exhausting. In stagecraft we learned how to read drafting plans. Kinda neat. Well, I ought to get to like them; that's what the rest of my life is going ot consist of. The lab really tapped me of energy. I like bolting things, but only when the damned ratchets don't lock up. And 2-D Design consisted of a fun-filled color experimentation lab. We just got done making color wheels (gotta love those foundation arts courses *rolling eyes*), and the professor, who is a professional self-proclaimed potter, was asking *me* for advice on how I "mixed colors." Nothing like keeping me on my toes. Whatever. Walking back from class, I saw a penny on the ground heads-up. I took it as a good omen, but I didn't pick up the penny. I'm kind of sorry for it. I wonder if it means that I've "missed an opportunity." Wouldn't that suck? And I finally broke the news to my mother this evening that I intended to go to a Halloween party on a riverboat downtown with two people from my class I hardly know. With 100 other strangers. In the middle of the Ohio. On a boat with an open bar. With bartenders who don't card. I question my sanity sometimes. All I know is that I'm driving because I know by the end of the night I will not want to get into a car with anyone else. So what did mother think? "You're going to some rich girl's private birthday party/Halloween party with obnoxious bands, an open bar where they don't card you, with all these other hooligans dressed up drinking booze and smoking God knows what in the middle of the Ohio River.... Jesus Christ, oh my God, Samantha..." "Yes, Mom, I have my reservations about this as well." "If anything happens, call me. I'll call the Coast Guard." "Quick thinking, Mom," I scoffed. "Just be careful." "I will," I repeated for the 100th time. "I'm a hermit crab, though, and sometimes I have to come out of my shell and into the world," I added, trying to think of something to say that would be philosophical and cute at the same time in an effort to lower her blood pressure. "You know, I'm approaching a milestone birthday in a few months," she declared. She's going to be 50 in February, and she doesn't look a day older than 35ish. "You're not making this transition into my old age any easier." "You should have married earlier." "Honey, I *was* married. But you know how men are." "That I do, Mom. I suspect you'll be informing Dad of my latest social endeavor, eh?" "That all depends. We're not speaking." "Oh, you're not?" This actually didn't surprise me. My dad, as the oldest of my readers will know from unfortunate events earlier this year, can be an asshole, which Mom and I lovingly refer to as "the Dave Reno charm." "Nope," my mother answered. "And why's that?" "Because you know how he is. He was showing off, the Dave Reno charm, you know, the usual. Big-shot hockey dad." "Ah. So how long have you two been not talking?" "What?" "I said how long have you two not been talking?" I repeated, speaking louder into the phone. "Since last night. I took a splurge at the checkbook and he got all huffy and started yelling at me for no damned reason. He's out of town so I had the distinct pleasure of not seeing his face this morning." I grimaced. Ouch. "So," Mom concluded, "you may talk to him tomorrow if you like." Meaning she is going to be stubborn and stick to her guns. Meaning she is going to be cold and sarcastic when I go home tomorrow to pick up my costume for Thursday, and one of them, either Mom or Dad, is not going to be at the dinner table tomorrow. "So he's out of town, but he's going to be home tomorrow?" I asked. "Yes, I suspect he'll be." Humph. This conversation reminded me why I had so wanted to move out of the house and live on a college campus. Go through my old entries when I talked about how unhappy I was living in the emotionally abusive environment between my parents, and think now how much misery I have been spared. For as much as they smell, for as much as I cringe at some of the people who stalk around the campus at NKU, for as much as I miss having privacy, for as uncomfortable my roommate sometimes makes me, for as much as I feel unnatural wearing flipflops in the shower, thank God for college dormitories. Nope. I'm not missing anything being away from home. I feel bad that my mother has to put up with four males at home (Dad, my brother, and the two cats if you're perplexed), but I believe that's what they mean when they talk about a mother's sacrifice, as cruel as that sounds. Sometimes I think it may have been better if those two divorced. Like, the initial divorce would have caused quite the scar in the heart of my family, but sometimes I wonder if I would rather have a permanent, deformed scar than a sweltering, festering wound that never quite heals but digs deeper into the tissues of your muscles until it touches the marrow of your bone. Maybe an even better comparison is thinking of what exists in my family as a cancer that causes a slow, painful death, and kemotherapy can only treat it so far. I write these words without the slightest bit of remorse. I cannot help that that's the way I feel, for that's how I perceive things as they stand in my family. But who knows? I may, after all, be wrong. My mom is an extraordinary, strong woman, and no matter how much the relatives may fight over me ("Oh, she takes after me, she takes after me! She has my eyes, my personality!"), I will always be my mother's daughter. (That sounds like a "Joy Luck Club" moment.) It's interesting. They called my grandmother The Rock before she died, and I see a lot of my mother in Grandma. And if I am my mother, then the trinity is complete: crone, mother, maiden. What do you think of that, Christine? C'est la vie, I suppose. I intend to spend the rest of my night quietly.
A Bit of History ~ And Onward! L'Amour Toujours! - August 08, 2005 |
Latest Entry | Archives | Diaryland |
Profile | Diaryrings | |
Guestbook | E-mail Me | Leave a note |
Art Work (Coming Soon) | Genealogy (Coming Soon) | The-Last-Unicorn.net |