About My Mother
I never envisioned that thoughts about my mother would make it into this blog, but her month-long visit starting tomorrow has triggered the idea that it might be good to publicly capture my survival of this. And it does impact my relationship with James because I'm now incorporating being present for her AND him.
James and I are good without any other intrusions. We've found a way (well I worked on this, he was already an expert) to have our relationship independent of our work experience. We are loving and kind even if work's riding up our ass.
Actually, we both try to be the kind person even to our workmates. I love that about us.
Family of origin though, well, they installed the buttons and it gives them joy to push them. It's hard to shake the feeling that her Royal Highness has declared me bag boy to bring her things from the airport and to make myself available to sit, spin, turn, pick up, gopher as her dutiful, doting son. Problem is, I'm no longer that, even if I was.
I'm clear my parents care nothing for my homosexuality. It frankly disgusts them at some primal level beyond reasoning. Any conversation about it and their eyes glaze and a sort of "la la la la la I can't hear you" brain process leads them to a "no comment" silence and the subject quickly changes back to something about them. And lately it's about physical health stuff. It seems as we humans get older stuff starts misfiring and getting wonky in our bodies. Sucks. So for a month she's tending to it and I have all sorts of guilt about not wanting to roll over and play perfect son.
I did clean: mop, scrub the bowl, sinks--in that almost preparing for the white glove test. I did cook...and get my haircut...and prepare my boss...ok, fine. But I did not dust. I had to draw the line somewhere. And I will be gracious. I'll avoid talking about as James says "gay icky stuff" but I will talk about James, and I will ask for time to gather myself and stay sane--I will need time away from it all. And I will need my time with James.
I want to see how this is all going to go down.
James and I are good without any other intrusions. We've found a way (well I worked on this, he was already an expert) to have our relationship independent of our work experience. We are loving and kind even if work's riding up our ass.
Actually, we both try to be the kind person even to our workmates. I love that about us.
Family of origin though, well, they installed the buttons and it gives them joy to push them. It's hard to shake the feeling that her Royal Highness has declared me bag boy to bring her things from the airport and to make myself available to sit, spin, turn, pick up, gopher as her dutiful, doting son. Problem is, I'm no longer that, even if I was.
I'm clear my parents care nothing for my homosexuality. It frankly disgusts them at some primal level beyond reasoning. Any conversation about it and their eyes glaze and a sort of "la la la la la I can't hear you" brain process leads them to a "no comment" silence and the subject quickly changes back to something about them. And lately it's about physical health stuff. It seems as we humans get older stuff starts misfiring and getting wonky in our bodies. Sucks. So for a month she's tending to it and I have all sorts of guilt about not wanting to roll over and play perfect son.
I did clean: mop, scrub the bowl, sinks--in that almost preparing for the white glove test. I did cook...and get my haircut...and prepare my boss...ok, fine. But I did not dust. I had to draw the line somewhere. And I will be gracious. I'll avoid talking about as James says "gay icky stuff" but I will talk about James, and I will ask for time to gather myself and stay sane--I will need time away from it all. And I will need my time with James.
I want to see how this is all going to go down.
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