When I’m sick my mother has this awful habit of converting her twice-weekly phone calls into twice-daily. *sigh*
Mum: “Are you feeling better yet?”
Me: “Not really.”
Mum: “Oh. What have you been doing?”
Me: “Not much. Watching TV. Sleeping.” (and playing on the internet, but I’m not going to tell you about that because you’d just lecture me about wasting time)
Mum (with definite disdain): “Oh. Well, have you rung the real estate people about the water issue yet?”
Me (in my head): No I f*cking haven’t. I’m sick and for once in my life I’m trying to rest – that isn’t an “indulgence”, you know, or an excuse to catch up on jobs around the house. Besides which, how many times do I have to tell you I’m not going to waste my life chasing those idiots over every damned thing? I could ring them every day, ten times a day, and it wouldn’t make an ounce of difference!
Me (to Mum): “No. You know I’m not going to waste time on that.”
Mum: “Oh well. You can’t expect them to do anything if you don’t chase them. They’re hopeless.”
Me (in my head): Yes, they’re hopeless and if I have to tell you again that I’m not wasting time on them then my head will explode.
Me (to Mum): “Ok.”
Those of you who commented on my last post made me realise that my mother really is incapable of supporting me emotionally. She always has been. She has the emotional capacity of an ice cube. At her age, that’s going to be hard to change, and it will be up to me to steer. I just don’t have the strength for that at the moment.
Oh, and before you suggest it, if I don’t answer the phone she starts sending me text messages. I’ve less patience for that than I do the phone calls.