2015-12-26

Christmas is the time for regrets

Sometimes the present becomes foggy and starts drifting away. When I talk, my eyes slip from my mother's eyes onto the tablecloths' red pattern. The rectangles move, they pulse, in time with my nystagmus, maybe., I slouch, I'm suck on my cheeks, the corners of my mouth are heavy, and my face fall down, and the day dream start: Andy hits her...

When with your mother
* pretend she's a real person;
* when's she asks, say you want mashed potatoes and gravy;
* ask questions;
* relax, forget how annoying it is when she picks her toenails;
* there are reruns, on demand, Hulu, Netflix, Amazon;
* she'll say it's your day, but she'll run right past your favorite store anyway.

When you placate and roll your eyes behind her back, she's rolling her eyes behind yours. You're still an indecisive, irritable asshole, she thought she raised you better, but WTF,  you're your own problem now.

I feel better now. Funny interlude focused my mind. Maybe I should think on why my day dreams almost always start there. 

No comments:

Post a Comment