2003-02-20

I have a bit of tension headache. The evening however, went better than expected. Well, better than expected if you are my mother, and hellacious torture if you are me. Which is still better than I thought. My day didn�t start off very well. I woke up with my alarm. I sighed, rolled over, took a deep breath and decided that I would just deal with today. I glanced back at the clock. It read 9 am. Yes, between shutting off the alarm and the deep breath, I fell back asleep. I slept through roommate leaving and Bimberly�s phone call. I dashed about getting ready, flinging things on and not taking the few moments necessary to match my underwear to what I was wearing. This actually heightened my stress level, as I was sure that I would be involved in a terrible automobile accident and the paramedics would notice, thus not giving me extra care and the best doctors. It made me drive like an old woman. Miracle of miracles however, I crept into work at 9:30 to a rather angry boss. It seems that the schools are out this week and lots of people have been coming in late. I was merely the unfortunate target. I threw myself into work, skipping lunch with Bimberly and Plane (who was still dressing up, or well, like a human) to have something from the truck. Which also means I didn�t get the gossip. It�s not like Bimberly went out of her way to get it to me however. Perhaps there is none. It�s the intervention theory. At 3 o�clock the phone rang. It was my mother, wondering when I could pick her up. She was bored and would prefer it if I fetched her then. I tried explaining to her about the modern workplace (omitting my morning tardiness) which she pishawed and asked me transfer her to my boss. My finger hovered on the transfer button, the extension blazing in my brain. I wanted to. I stood up, glancing over to my bosses glass walled office. He was going through some papers. It would be unbelievable. It would be hysterical. It would get me fired. Regretfully I sat down and told my mother that I would see what I could do. I ended up sneaking out at 4. I reached my mother an hour later due to rush hour traffic and we spent the drive back listening to the radio. My mother, it seems, is a fan of Celine Dion. I tried explaining to her that Drive all Night is a cover song, originally done by Cindi Lauper, �The girls have fun singer?� She still doesn�t believe me. I�m thinking of buying her the album. She�ll smile graciously and never mention our conversation. �Redwood City!� I�ll cry, �You called me a liar�. I�ll be told that I really shouldn�t hold onto such things. It�s not healthy. This coming from the woman who still brings up the fact that I told her she could not accompany me to Europe when I was 18. 9 years, it seems, has not dulled the pain of my telling her that I thought I�d like to experience it on my own. We ate at the California Pizza Kitchen, one of her favorites. She is always getting it in airports and enjoyed the dining menu. I was glad that roommate mentioned it to her. I was thinking of going to a Thai establishment nearby. As expected, roommate got the third degree. The high point of the entire evening came during dinner, when an inside joke involving socks, taken from an episode of Coupling on BBC America led my mother to oh so casually mention that perhaps I had a fetish. Like my father, who, it seems, never took his socks off for sex. Not only did this provide me with a vivid mental image that is forever stamped on my psyche, but also I don�t think I will ever wear socks again. This is the type of incident that leads to the path of compulsive behavior. I�m supposed to take her coffee in the morning, before work tomorrow. I�m sure that it will be taken as a test of my commitment to her. Or maybe it�s to say she�s sorry. She slipped me a Starbucks Card, she picked it up with my sister. It had hearts on it, and was meant as a belated valentine. The till didn�t have any large bills for the change and she didn�t want to wait for the manager. So, it�s hard to say what is actually on there. I�m thinking 50. But it could be a 100. Minus two latt�s and some scones. It�s the things like that, the total bi polar nature of her care/carelessness that drives me nuts. How she can be so driven, my sister and I are constantly receiving packages from her. Filled with something she felt we would like, there would be no note or explanation. Just a box filled with cake decorating supplies, or some books. I had a kidney infection and she sent me Heal your Life. She likes to call me to ask about the book she is reading for her bookclub. �I just want you to be happy�, she�ll say. And it�s true. So I�ll love her for that. And buy Advil at Costco.

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