Update, Post-Family
May. 5th, 2008 03:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
itsallovernowMy mom is home now, safe and sound. Her legions of stuff, her snoring, and the plague she kept trying to give me are all home too.
Our hot water was dubious this weekend, making a hotel stay overnight for the spa visit a necessity, but a lovely one. Mmmm, spa. Red mud, mineral pools, sea kelp painted on my body, and some relief from fucking Captain Tripps. Plus, I got to spend some quality time with my mom. And all her stuff.
I was a moderately good and appreciative child, losing points only for my utter impatience with how long it takes to get out the door, and with the eight thousand bags of stuff that seem to be required to get out the door. (I'm a consolidator. I'd rather have two hugely heavy bags that I stagger under than 10 piddly little bags of stuff).
The hot water is a problem with the water heater which periodically requires us to relight it, sometimes as many as 5 times a day. This? Is a ginormous pain in the ass. And leads to the mystery of why, if our landlord has been to the house three times in the past week, M. has not requested that his shower gets fixed, and instead is STILL using mine!!
My other utter fail as a daughter is the surfacing of my periodic crazed body issues which leads to a near hysterical loathing of my body which then manifests itself in a dislike of being touched, or acknowledged, and hysterical sobbing (which one can't do in front of one's mother), and an attribution of everything that is sucky or difficult in my life to the current state of my fat ass and thighs. This sounds funnier than it is. When this hits, it's debilitating for me, dovetailing with a massive depression and stymying me completely. I hate this, and I can't always control it, and I don't like to deal with these issues around my Mom because she feels a) guilty or b) responsible or c)upset that I'm hurting in a way she can't fix. Plus, I'm bitchy and a terror when I can't just break down and that helps no one.
I'm trying to process. I'm trying to move past the loathing. I'm trying to get into the: "your working on it, and world peace will not arrive if your ass fits in those jeans again so get some fucking perspective already." It is a challenge. (It requires me reminding myself of things like my relationships not ending because my ass was too fat - false construct, or me being a failure because I lack the discipline needed to keep my body in shape, and then spirals into things beyond my body and into my loserishness in general and it's like a steamroller with the keys on and the brakes off - no matter how much I want to jump up and stop it, it's an unmoveable object mowed down by overwhelming force). My mother bore the brunt of this, me panicking in front of mirrors and food.
However, I also made her watch the first season of Futurama, and she's taking the first two seasons of Buffy home, and she bought me a snazzy, snazzy bag and a pedicure (even though my toes now look like fingers since I had a french manicure done and it's creeping me out) and we went hiking in Malibu and out to dinner at a fancy restaurant for her birthday and she hates my hair, but loves me anyway.
So, my own raging insecurities and breakdowns aside, it was a good weekend.
Oh, and we saw Iron Man and folks there's not enough room in the world for my love of Robert Downey, Jr. (even though a little of that is because he looks like the first guy I fell utterly, and mostly unrequitedly, in love with). So much love. The movie had flaws, but mostly, I adored it, and almost entirely because of him.
Our hot water was dubious this weekend, making a hotel stay overnight for the spa visit a necessity, but a lovely one. Mmmm, spa. Red mud, mineral pools, sea kelp painted on my body, and some relief from fucking Captain Tripps. Plus, I got to spend some quality time with my mom. And all her stuff.
I was a moderately good and appreciative child, losing points only for my utter impatience with how long it takes to get out the door, and with the eight thousand bags of stuff that seem to be required to get out the door. (I'm a consolidator. I'd rather have two hugely heavy bags that I stagger under than 10 piddly little bags of stuff).
The hot water is a problem with the water heater which periodically requires us to relight it, sometimes as many as 5 times a day. This? Is a ginormous pain in the ass. And leads to the mystery of why, if our landlord has been to the house three times in the past week, M. has not requested that his shower gets fixed, and instead is STILL using mine!!
My other utter fail as a daughter is the surfacing of my periodic crazed body issues which leads to a near hysterical loathing of my body which then manifests itself in a dislike of being touched, or acknowledged, and hysterical sobbing (which one can't do in front of one's mother), and an attribution of everything that is sucky or difficult in my life to the current state of my fat ass and thighs. This sounds funnier than it is. When this hits, it's debilitating for me, dovetailing with a massive depression and stymying me completely. I hate this, and I can't always control it, and I don't like to deal with these issues around my Mom because she feels a) guilty or b) responsible or c)upset that I'm hurting in a way she can't fix. Plus, I'm bitchy and a terror when I can't just break down and that helps no one.
I'm trying to process. I'm trying to move past the loathing. I'm trying to get into the: "your working on it, and world peace will not arrive if your ass fits in those jeans again so get some fucking perspective already." It is a challenge. (It requires me reminding myself of things like my relationships not ending because my ass was too fat - false construct, or me being a failure because I lack the discipline needed to keep my body in shape, and then spirals into things beyond my body and into my loserishness in general and it's like a steamroller with the keys on and the brakes off - no matter how much I want to jump up and stop it, it's an unmoveable object mowed down by overwhelming force). My mother bore the brunt of this, me panicking in front of mirrors and food.
However, I also made her watch the first season of Futurama, and she's taking the first two seasons of Buffy home, and she bought me a snazzy, snazzy bag and a pedicure (even though my toes now look like fingers since I had a french manicure done and it's creeping me out) and we went hiking in Malibu and out to dinner at a fancy restaurant for her birthday and she hates my hair, but loves me anyway.
So, my own raging insecurities and breakdowns aside, it was a good weekend.
Oh, and we saw Iron Man and folks there's not enough room in the world for my love of Robert Downey, Jr. (even though a little of that is because he looks like the first guy I fell utterly, and mostly unrequitedly, in love with). So much love. The movie had flaws, but mostly, I adored it, and almost entirely because of him.
