There are so many more thoughts I have on friends, but my mind is a jumble, I need to wait for the dust to settle before I can articulate it clearly for myself. So, on to men & mom? I don't have much to communicate just yet on men, but the seeds of thought are there. I know this, because on the way to work this morning (damn, a lot happens in my head on the way to work), a few of the men in my life popped into my head. And I thought about the fact that I'm not dating anyone right now. And I thought that I'd like to. But then I thought of 2 men, and if I dated anyone, I would have to give them up. The idea of one, the sex of another. It's not even like there's much to give up physically, neither of these men even live in the same city. But for me, everything is mental. And they occupy a significant chunk of my man-interest. But despite all the things I don't want to give up, all the thoughts I don't want to hide, I find myself fancying the notion of a new man, getting to know me from scratch, on all levels, where in the past, I have had a different man for each. So off to the universe goes that vibe and I guess I'll see what happens. My horoscope today said something about "shocking Uranus". I thought that was hysterical.

Okay...Mom. This is the longest I've gone without talking to my mother. When I left on Saturday, my car loaded with the last of my pertinent stuff, she blocked the door. She told me to sweep the garage, where my cats had been (she's allergic to cats). Said she needed to do laundry, needed to be in the garage, and the hair was bothering her. I handed her a Claritin and said, "this will help you today, I'll be by to sweep it tomorrow." She didn't like the lack of control she had at that moment. Me, leaving, not owing her anything, not waiting for anything she could give me. And not willing to bend to her will.

Her face contorted, an expression I've grown accustomed to. She raised her hand, started screaming at me, her face no more than a foot away from mine. I met her crazy gaze, made sure she was looking at my eyes, my relaxed, curious expression, as I slowly and deliberately glanced at the hand in the air and back at her face. I said, "Please move, my cats are in the apartment alone and I want to be there right now."

She called all day. My cell, my home. I didn't answer. Later in the evening, when I had friends over, I did answer. She was wheezing, said she couldn't breath, I had to come over and sweep out the garage, it's killing her, yadda yadda yadda, she has to do laundry, has to clean before Bunco on Wednesday, having people over, yadda.

I said, "Funny, you were able to do your laundry while the cats were in the garage. Now that they're gone, you can't?" Her bedroom is upstairs, and she is saying now that she's having trouble sleeping. I thought, of course you are. Psychosomatic ability will do that to you. I was very calm. I told her that my schedule is full, I am very busy. But that there are a few more things I can think of to grab, so I'll try to get down there when I can. What I WANTED to say was, "with every choked breath you take, think of every horrible word you've said to me. And feel it like I felt it." Jenny, my sister, is not affected by her words. She's never taken my mother seriously. I am. I do. And I've been where mom is right now, I've been choked and strangled, but she was my allergy.

Despite my apathy towards her right now, one vision keeps reappearing in my head, haunting me throughout the day. It's her, as she looked right before I left. Not the angry face. That was just noteworthy. No, it was the face I saw when she didn't think I was looking, when she was sitting on the couch as I was walking through the room to leave. Defeated. Sad. Lost. Alone. So fucking alone. And she did it to herself. Emerson said, if you want to have a friend, you need to be one.

I pity her. I feel her sadness. And I tell people that I don't care, that it's her deal, not mine. And I really want it to be that way. I really want to write her off, like I do with the friends in my life who come and go. But I can't. She's my *mother*. And if she doesn't change, she is going to die miserable and alone in her mind. And that kills me.

-Barbarella

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