I see it’s been a whole week since I last posted. Sorry about that. Suffice to say there’s nothing go on in my life, so basically doing nothing and writing nothing, leaves you, my dear reader, with nothing, so you are completely up to date. Isn’t it nice to know you’re caught up in at least one area of life?
So, what does a week of nothing look like? Well, I fasted from Saturday evening to Sunday evening. All I accomplished was to make myself very hungry (and wish I’d bought more of that veggie juice because it was very tasty). I’ve been trying to finish web pages with my vacation photos, somewhat thwarted by the fact that my computer is a little too old for such intensive graphics work. But perhaps something happened, after all. I feel like getting back into my old routine – or rather, my old routine of trying to create routines for myself. I feel like doing stuff in the home, is what I’m saying. It started last night: Doing the laundry felt so automatic and familiar. I feel back to normal. Finally!
In the getting back to normalness, there is the desire to cook more for myself, to read more and to further surround myself with only blessing things. To that end, I cut out a couple of newsgroup subscriptions and some blogs. I no longer want to read people’s angry words.
A co-worker from the department next door asked me about my US trip today. Did it meet my expectations? I had none, I said. Did I sunbathe? No. (Norwegians like to sunbathe.) Shop? No. (I never do shopping as a separate activity for it’s own sake). I probably sounded like the dullest person who’d had the dullest trip. Truth was, and I did wonder if I should tell my co-worker this, my focus was on family, what little I have. And my expectations for that (what little I had) were not met. Perhaps that’s one reason why I haven’t been myself since I got back. Something emotional was caught in me.
I know why and now I’m tired of hiding how I feel. Truth is, I don’t get along with my mother, never have, and – as I sadly discovered this trip – never will. We have an odd competition going on, one that baffles me but that has always been there, thwarting any joy of being mother and daughter. I was wondering what the prize was, and how we’d know who won, and what does the winner get, anyway? But I couldn’t avoid the competition. I kept getting drawn in, though I was proud of myself for not getting drawn in nearly as much as I once did. My hairdresser, who’d worked with women his whole career, was familiar with the phenomenon. Jealousy, he suggested. Well, my grandma said my mother was jealous of me, I replied. Oddly, I’ve never been in competition with other women; only my mother. It gets expressed as a constant battle to be right, to have the last word. It’s stupid, and I try not to participate, but I couldn’t avoid it every time. The really painful part is that I do not feel like she has to prove anything or that she’s inferior in any way to me. I’m not jealous of her; I just want her to be Mom and my friend, but she never seems to see that. Instead, I spent my vacation walking on eggshells trying to avoid the digs, eggshells too reminiscent of when I was a teenager and still living at home.
So I came home, back to being grateful for 5000 miles between my mother and me. It sucks to be 46, feeling 16 for all the wrong reasons.
No, not just another Tuesday, after all. And yet, it is. There’s nothing new in what I said above. Not at all. But it did help to write it down and get it said. Thank you for your attention.