Dearest Mommie

Tomorrow, my mother arrives.

For those who know her, that is a tremendously weighted sentence.

I must confess I am excited/frightened/loathing/worried/relieved/anticipating/looking forward to our time together. My mother is very(too) close to me. Family is very(too) important to me. It has been a year since I saw her, ironically at a surprise wedding celebration she threw for us. That last sentence makes me seem like Nicolas Cage, all instant Hollywood wedding and divorce and all.

She planned this trip before my life took a permanent stop in the shitter. Now, I can feel her salivating at the opportunity to "mother" me.

See, she had me at the ripe old age of 17. Actually, that makes her seem experienced, when the truth is she had only just turned 17 six days before my arrival. So, besides harassing my father, I am the thing she has done the longest.

She lets me know that too. She is very proud of me(proof that people should actually experience life before procreating and then vicariously living). Not to say that she isn't "involved" with my brother and sister, but she is a bit more in tune with me due to my unusual, and to her, enlightened path.

These days, however, she doesn't have anyone to mother. It has been like that for a while. None of her children followed in her foothpath and squirted out the next gen early. In fact, the youngest, at age 30, is only now talking kids. My brother is aged 34 and no where near even meeting the right woman, not to mention inseminating her. And of course, any hope of me being the vanguard in that field has been abandoned. As my father so delicately put it the other day, they just hope that someday I might adopt a starving Asian.

Due to her lack of purpose in life, my mother has found an alternative hobby. Alcohol. She isn't quite to AA proportions, but she is certainly creating a secret buzz amongst family members. The problem with this is, she gets drunk and wants her mothering life back. So, when she is too emotional, and depressed, and not censoring herself due to poor objective ability caused by wine, she starts to "love" us. Let me tell you, that is creepy. My wife was privy to this once, and after exclaiming, Oh my God, she had to leave the room. Uncomfortable.

And now, this is landing in my lap. At a time when I could actually use some mothering, but the easy kind. The let me hug you, and tell you it gets better, and then move on kind. Not the emotional, finally I have a goal, super-uber mothering.

So, part of me feels like I have to be strong for her, so she doesn't need to be strong for me. The other part of me is racing to fill a schedule where we are never close to a liquor bottle for any where near an hour. Then, we can come back here, and she will crash in my bed, and I will get improper, worried, repressed sleep on my couch, only to have her arise at 7AM, after lying in bed awake for two hours, and start doing the dishes for me.

Well, it is only four days. Only ninety six hours. Only five thousand seven hundred sixty minutes. Only three hundred forty five thousand, six hundred seconds.

Needless to say, I will not be blogging during that time. I know from experience that the last thing you want is the people who love you to know the inner truth about you. She must never discover this, or I will have to kill her. Hell, just reading this post would do the job.

When I return, I will talk more about my next improv show, which I have yet to find out if I am in (even though, I named the show), and how terrible it will be. I will also work through the big life change I put into motion. That being, I asked a friend to be my roommate, and he said that sounds good. We need to discuss the matter more, but it looks like a go.

Til then...