Mama, can't you see I've got to live my life the way I feel is right for me? Might not be right for you, but it's right for me.
The "me." link to the left there has the full-size shot.
I adore her, but she upsets me strongly.
After long conversations with her I become ill-feeling, disoriented. My head aches. I doubt the validity of my own thoughts and I feel transparent.
I'm the most independent of her children.
The farthest from home.
The most like her.
The four of us are all very unique and well-defined, but I'm the only one who left town and finished school.
I'm the only one who has stayed single.
I'm the only one she hasn't needed to bail out (for more than $200).
She still tells me how she would rather see me live my life.
We talked for over three hours yesterday, and I don't feel like the conversation is really over.
It was just time to hang-up so we made it seem over.
I considered calling her back last night.
Instead I spent fifteen minutes with Maggie and Tylere and another five with Asit just to rant.
I went to bed at nine thirty again.
Sleep it all into forgetfulness.
My morphine.
I mailed her her birthday card yesterday, all I could think to write in it was,
"I love you so much, and all I want is for you to look at my life and say, "that's it; you got it."
My passive-aggression is telling me to just wait until she gets that card and then she'll feel sort of crappy for being so dissaproving.
I don't know why women think this way, but we do.
I called her to calm me down because I was feeling anxiety about getting an apartment without seeing it first.
Twenty-four hours later and I'm tempted to call her to calm me down because I'm feeling anxiety about our conversation.
Perhaps I shall email her.
If I could just go home...
