My mother wants me to get my act together. You know, finances and a cute part-time job.
I tried to get through. “The week before you came home, I found it useful to sleep on the floor to get my focus back. You know, monastic.”
She twisted her eyes. How weird I am.
“Just make a list,” she told me, “with the pros and cons.”
I chuckled a bit. Any reader of this blog knows that my problem isn’t that I don’t consider my options.
My problem is, as I told her, getting something done without stirring up too much shit. Heck, my sister is into me being silent about the speeding ticket; best not to stir the shit.
This leaves me quite divided, and my parents quite ignorant; through their own choice, of course. My mother says that as she sits in her recliner, she realizes she hasn’t done much to succeed.
“Well, time to change!” I said. That snarky look again.
“The problem is that your mother told you you were nothing but a failure, and you decided to believe her.”
“Maybe that’s true,” she replied, “but it’s too late.”
Is it too late to believe your kid isn’t really a loser, even if you think that you are?
I don’t know. I’ll just make a list.
And hit myself in the head.