You are currently browsing the daily archive for July 11, 2008.
Post lunch haze. Feeling full and sleepy, but good. If I was at home, this would be a perfect time to retire to bed with a book, which I would then lay next to me as I stared out of the window at the lovely damp sky, or even just at the inside of my eyelids.
Chatty Colleague was Chatty again this morning. I have already email whinged about this to several of you, so I’ll refrain from doing it again. Besides, it doesn’t really help. Sure, it stops me from feeling the urge to actually physically harm her. But it does nothing for my internal turmoil.
She is a lovely person. She is genuine, concerned for others, caring. Sure, she has some irritating traits; even unbaised, Nice people agree that she can be grating. But she’s young. And she is Sincere and Nice. And yet… increasingly, I feel not even token positive feelings towards her. In fact, I am full of negative ones. Not hatred. That’s too strong a word. But I realised this morning on the bus that I was actually dreading coming to work, because it meant having to talk to her. Not because of the in-the-moment experience, but because of the way I am left feeling afterwards.
Angry. At her, and at myself for feeling so negative, for having such large feelings about such small things. Why can’t I just let it go? Take a deep breathe and calm the f*ck down? I mean, really. It’s not like I live with her. It’s not like I even talk to her that much.
I probably shouldn’t even be blogging about this. Still, it’s not about HER. It’s not. It’s about me. Me, me, me. None of the things that annoy me about her are her fau… ok, wait. Some of them are. But in fact, the things she has control over are only really annoying to me in the context of all the other negative emotions she evokes. I mean, it’s stuff that when other people do it, I just sigh and move on. But because I am already cranky about her…
I was trying to think, why her? But I don’t think that there is any particular reason, apart from the fact that she already sort of rubbed me up the wrong way. And since I am sort of tense and on edge at the moment, she’s become a focal point for my angst.
Yup. I’m still tired. I still feel like I have no excuse to be dragging myself around. Still think I’m on the verge of coming down with something, although I refuse to be sick, do you hear?!
Holiday next week. I can’t wait.
Emotions are so hard. You have to have them. Then you have to think about them, and figure out what exactly they are. This is harder than you might think. Then you have to figure out why you are feeling that, and is that a justified response? Then you have to act accordingly. Which is why I so often put my emotions on hold, because I take far longer to do all that than a normal encounter allows for. So, if I can, I just ignore my emotions until I can figure out what they are.
I’m trying to work out how I feel about my mum. The best I can come up with is ‘ambivalent’.
She’s a bit mental. Small mental. She’s not, you know. Crazy. Whatever that even means! I don’t know how you would tell the difference between officially crazy people and officially sane people. Anyway. She just makes everything harder than it needs to be. And she doesn’t… I don’t know. It’s like she doesn’t realise that my sister and I are in fact seperate people. Seperate from her, not from each other. And every time we do something that she doesn’t like (and it’s always completely arbitrary when she doesn’t like something) it’s personal. We didn’t just do it because of our own reasons. It was on purpose to hurt or offend her.
I dunno. It’s more complicated than that. And we have a long history of conflict – not big conflict. Just constant.
I always forget that I can’t tell her anything. At least, not anything that is important to me, or means anything. Even things like my holiday – have I talked about that here? Everyone who I know reads this blog knows about it anyway – most of you are involved in some way! I am going to Bendigo for the Sheep and Wool show, and then to Melbourne to stay until Wednesday night. Going to meet some bloggy friends, do some exploring of the city, buy some fibre. Hang out with good people, and do things I like. I am so, so looking forward to this – and then I have another four days when I get back, before I have to go back to work. I am hoping that it will be what I need – refreshing. A pause. A time to sort myself out.
I was talking to my mother about it on the phone the other day. I said ‘I am really looking forward to my holiday.’ Her response?
‘It’s a bit weird, isn’t it?’
I don’t even know what that means. I am assuming she is talking about the sheep and wool part of it – she knits, but she is not a Knitter. She certainly doesn’t have the Yarn Lust. Even so… what kind of response is that?
Last month she came for a visit and I showed her my single finished Monkey Sock. She looked at it and said ‘I’ve never gotten the point of knitting socks. And I really dont’ like that green. But you would, wouldn’t you.’
I don’t know what kind of a relationship I would like with my mother. But that isn’t it. I know those are just two incidents, out of context. Maybe it doesn’t say too much. But… I was just talking about this with my sister. Every time it’s going nicely, you’ve had great conversations with her, you feel like she loves you and you love her and you understand each other and you’re on the same team… she goes and says something like that, or does something that makes you feel isolated, wrong, alone. And I always feel so betrayed.
It’s funny how much those two throw away remarks hurt. And also how much they didn’t. How much I’ve detatched myself from her, because I don’t have the energy to be out there, taking the punches. She is not the most important relationship in my life. Maybe she should be, but she just isn’t. So I am not invested enough to be interested in going with her wherever her moods are.
Obviously she’s got her own internal stuff going on. And I’m kind of hoping that when my sister moves out at the end of the year, there will be one less thing that she can blame for how she feels. I know she does this – I do it too. I feel unhappy. It must be because X has left their shit everywhere. How dare they! It’s rude! This is my space too! It’s like they hate me! I could be blissfully happy, if only they’d put their stuff away! It’s all their fault!!
Sure, the mess isn’t helping. But it’s not the problem.
Anyway, the point of all that is that I was trying to work out if I love my mother.
I guess the trouble is that I am not sure what that means, anymore. Was I ever sure? I remember being surprised the first time I fell in love. I had thought that maybe I didn’t have it in me, and there I was, arse over teakettle, in love with someone. Undeniably in love.
Now, I love plenty of people. In a quieter way. I give thanks almost every day for my boss, who is awesomeness personified – as a boss, and as friend. I have friendship-love for work colleagues. I am so very grateful for my fibre friends. I miss my friend in China all the time, even though I haven’t seen her in years.
I would do all kinds of ridiculous things for my sister. If anyone tried to hurt her, I don’t think I would even think twice about jumping into harm’s way. Same goes for my cousins. ust don’t fuck with them, ok? I feel a gentler, but no less deep, love for most of my family – my grandma and dad particularly, I respect and love and admire, even though I see things about them that aren’t perfect.
But I can’t find what I feel for my mother, right now. In the abstract, I feel love and respect and fondness. When I think of past-her, of her when she was my age, when I was small, I feel sympathy and understanding and love for her as a human being with flaws and talents. A mother, a woman, a person just trying to work life out.
I just don’t know what I feel for her, now, today. Why should it be different? Have I run out of patience? Is that fair?
I guess I feel… nothing. I don’t think I will feel that way forever. I’m sure tomorrow I will be angry and frustrated, in a month I will feel positive again, in another month, something different again.
But for now, I feel… nothing.
I probably shouldn’t be ok with that. But I am.