Friday morning

Yesterday was relatively peaceful, by mom standards. I did have to leave the dinner table because she wouldn't stop political ranting and name-calling, but that's every day (even by phone). This morning, I woke up early--and fielded about 20 work emails between 6 and 10am--and tried to get my work out in before mom got up and tried to talk to me while I worked out. I need workout time to myself, so I can clear my head and better keep an unpained face while mom gossips about the neighbors for the 30th time. I got through about half the workout, which is something. Dad left for a medical appointment. Mom talked to me, and then wandered outside. I checked on her occasionally through the window. Just as I was wrapping up, she came back in and started yelling.

She had gone through the recycling bin and brought back all the paper--old circulars and junk mail, including a free calendar. She started screaming and pounding her fists about how dad throws out all her things without ever asking her, and about how everything that is good in the house, she brought or bought and dad never did anything. All he does is move things around and mess with her decor. I finished stretching, and--noticing visible dust--started vacuuming. In part to tune out mom.

I got my parents a new vacuum cleaner last time I was here, and almost instantly filled several canisters' worth. Dad promised that he'd keep vacuuming, but lately he said that it wasn't working as well. The house looked better than usual--the living room floor was not covered in a visible layer of dust, and dad said that he'd been on top of keeping that floor clean because since we cleaned it last time, he noticed the dirt that much more--but there was still dust everywhere. So I vacuumed the living room and the stairs, filling about three-quarters of a canister. Dad got home around that time and mom started screaming at him--holding up the calendar and asking why he tossed it, and saying 'good thing the good trash collectors noticed it and new it wasn't trash, and took it out.' She continued to yell as dad and I emptied the canister and shook out the filter. I took the vacuum cleaner upstairs and filled a full, heaping canister. It was disgusting. I don't understand how they can just breathe all of that in. I keep telling them both that they need to clean everything out and get to the places I couldn't get to because of all the clutter, but it's like talking to a brick wall.

As I was vacuuming upstairs, mom tried to offer me some blazer. I told her it was too big. She insisted that it wasn't. I asked her to let me finish vacuuming. Once I did finish vacuuming, I started dealing with the 14 work emails on my phone--and mom started asking me about the blazer again.

A.: I can tell it's too big.
Mom: I can tell it isn't. Just try it on.
A.: Can I finish with the work stuff?
Mom: Just try it on.

I tried it on. It was--surprise--much too big, but she started arguing with me and telling me it looked great. It is an 8/10, and I am a 00. I said no thank you and went back to work emails.

Mom: Well, you could show some appreciation instead of taking that tone as if I'm just trying to stick you with some piece of garbage.
A.: Thank you, mom. It's a nice blazer, it just doesn't fit.
Mom: Have I told you that your visits no longer bring me any joy?
A.: You have.
Mom: Okay, then.