Phone call

I was pretty upset last night after talking to mom. As in: "it might actually be too much work not to hate you; it takes an active effort, and I've been making that effort, but you are determined to undermine it at every turn, so maybe I should save both of us the trouble and just hate you?" Ironically(?), giving myself that option gave me the freedom to come around to, "meh, it's not worth it. I'm sorry, as usual, that you can't help but be this way; you must hate yourself, much of the time. You affect me a little bit--enough that I realize how important it is to ration my exposure to you--but I don't need to hate you."


It was not this incoherent rant, which I can only assume was in reference to the invasion of Crimea, but I couldn't be bothered to ask:

Do you see now you see that I'm always right--don't answer that, I know that you do--especially in matters of international affairs, in which, by the way, I believe you have an advanced degree. And yet! I'm right. All I can say is: I. told. you. so. [More incoherent rambling from her; radio silence on my part.] Who said that thing: that you are angry, is a sure sign you're in the wrong wrong?

I am--this may shock you--vulnerable to my mom's jabs about my proficiency in international affairs. But for whatever reason, I must have been vulnerable to her jab at my relationship status:

Mom: Has [Gracie] lost weight?
A.: She has lost weight.
Mom (sarcastically): See, you do everything right. Everything but the most important things. I don't understand why you're single.

Upon further reflection, I concluded that I was more offended at the jab in theory--more hurt by the fact that mom was being deliberately mean--than by the content of the jab. That's when I decided to let myself hate her, and immediately upon doing so, decided that I didn't feel like it.