Irascible irritation and distraction

It's not like I didn't get a lot done, but none of it is the right work. Distracted by Outside, when so much needed to be done inside. No idea how this all came about.

Brain not working.

The semi-Persistence of Memory

When I knew we would have this house, and was in contact with my mother, I worried what she would think of it. Knew the kinds of comments she would make. Now I comfort myself by saying, "She'll never be here."

She never will, the thoughts fade nicely.

Nobody does, I'm the wind baby.

Unless you know me from the other blog, and even then, please add comments on the real blog.

Inflammatory responses

Ears ache, whole head irritated, sore throat. Cayenne helping the latter, not the general ick. Gotta be allergies, grass pollen on it's way up.

Can't wait until the mass of it really hits, whoo-boy.

Not quite the same as the ugly duckling.

I grew up trying to be the good one, the smart one, at least the one who didn't shun the parents. Kept it up for two decades after I left home, until I found out it wasn't even noticed. Now, I come to realize that there is something below the black sheep of the family.

I'm the goat, and it's kind of a relief.

Wintergreen candies

My mother tells me the story of when she and my father were courting. Not just once, but repeatedly. She'd made him wintergreen candies, and they walked along, him gobbling them up, until she told him there was wintergreen in them. At which he shouted at her, "What are you trying to do, poison me!?" and threw all of the rest of them in the ditch.

To me this is the story of regret, that she didn't run away then and there. That she was trapped.

She also tells of their wedding, the day before his sister's birthday (she would have been 27), and they had to have a cake for her at the reception, his idea, his insistence. A bitterness creeps into her voice every time she mentions it. Like the unspoken of, much referred to, wedding of the sister.

Now, 1950 or not, to marry someone knowing this? She was not a child, but 25, had a job. Well, I expect for many of the same reasons I married the ex, I finally had some parental approval, acceptance of my adulthood, to walk away from the marriage would have reduced me to a half-childhood again. Mid 20s is a hard age not to just let life push one along, even in the wrong direction.

She wanted me to hate him when she hated him, and still love my father. Something like that. Not an admirable position, not inspiring my respect, nor affection. Pity, compassion, yeah, I know what it is to feel trapped, to feel like I'm drowning and would have thrown anything, anyone, between me and my tormentor, just for the sake of a little respite. So, yes, she now denies it, and prefers the gloss, the fantasy.

I get it. I just can't like her.

How wide is your uncanny valley?

I think some people react to nearly human faces very differently. Which is why some love clowns, or dolls or CGI/Japanese robot-realism, hell someone is MAKING them, while the rest of us run away screaming. Are some of us more or less sensitive to the subtleties of faces, and others are not?

On the other hand, I don't see Jesus in my toast nor the BVM in waterspots.

Not living my life according to some preset, dammit.

Ok, so if my older brother was the conformist, family man, military veteran (ret.) MBA, success, and the second brother was the black sheep/missionary (an interesting combo, I admit) then what role was I supposed to play? Dutiful, long suffering daughter, meek and mild? Wow, did they have me pegged wrong.


Burn all the scripts.