I Have How Many Boxes?

My Momma's House
Detroit, MI
Less then 48 hours till Chicago
About to Go Shopping!
Tired of the Bullshit

I Have How Many Boxes?

I find no end of amusement in how much crap I require to function optimally. I mean, seriously people, it takes a lot of junk. There's nothing to make you realize your over abundance of shit like being forced to cart and haul all of it thousands of miles only to have it all perused and judged (merely on size, not content) by your Mother.

She won't take me shopping until I go through Mount Mia in the basement of Doom.

Yes, I'm being dramatic. It really wasn't all that bad, to tell the honest truth. I'm down to four boxes, two independent shelving/storage units, a huge pile of bedding, my giant duffel bag, my gargantuan suitcase, and my carry on. Not to mention the three boxes Dad's sending me and their two twin brothers that are chillin' at Grandma's house. Lord all mighty. And we're going to buy more stuff?

I would like the record to show that I didn't cry once yesterday. As I departed my dearly beloved land of sunshine and air conditioning, not one tear fell. Does this mean that I have somehow come to love my state less then I did a year ago? Impossible. If you can believe it, I love Texas more then ever, partially because I have forever proved to myself that I can return, and it can be amazing. Maybe it's my age, maybe it's my drive to put emotional space between Sean and I, maybe it's merely the consequence of fully embrace my life, but this has been, hands down, the BEST SUMMER EVER. So many friends, so much joy and laughter. I've gone on and on about this so I'll cut myself short. School year here I come.

My mom and I haven't fought yet, and personally, I'm a little freaked out. Don't get my wrong, I love my mother dearly, but for her as a person, I'm not sure where I stand. Had you asked me a year ago, I would have been adamant in my deep dislike for who she is as an individual: not someone I would have chosen to be in my life if it had not been for my bursting from her womb. But now, I see things a little differently. Can I honestly say I don't like her as a person, now that I don't know her as a person anymore? Maybe it's her underlying sadness at the fact that she's realized money doesn't make happiness that sparks my compassionate spirit. It could also stem from the fact that I can see her depression in the weight she's put on, her neverending catering to Joseph and her determination to keep her chin up. Seeing my mom this way make me infinitely sad, yet sadistically happy that maybe now she seeks my point: there's more to life then money. Fat chance.

All that being said, there are good things in her life. She live in a beautiful house, one I'm sure she's always wanted, and she doesn't have to worry about money or work her ass off for the first time in her life. Those things are blessings. But the incompatible factors that I first noticed about Joe and her are becoming more apparent. His lack of adventure, his fuddie-duddie ways, her love of life, his constant traveling, her constantly being alone. He has made her old prematurely, and that makes a part of me forever resent him. Yet, they sit in their matching recliners, in front of their obscenly large TV and hold hands. She wakes up to make him breakfast before starting on a day of nothing, and he takes her on nice, safe, planned trips. To be perfectly frank, I hope Mom got what she bargined for.

And on that note, I'm going to go give her a hug and tell her I love her. She never bargined for me; she was officially sterile. But I hope that I'm one of the best things she never expected, and I hope that I bring some happiness to her life. I'm like her in ways I won't admit, I admire her more then I let on, and well, she gives the best hugs in the world. I love you Mommy.