The benefits of 17 years of therapy

Sunday, October 02, 2005

My mother is crazy. Now I come from a long line of certifiably crazy people - with the involuntary committment papers to prove it, so when I call someone crazy, I know of what I speak.

I talked with my mother yesterday - for our traditional Saturday morning talk, except that I haven't talked with her for the last two Saturdays since she has been too busy talking with her internet boyfriends.

One of the more frightening things as an adult - aside from finding myself the mother of a hyper active girl who acts like a cross between a crack addict and Puff Daddy - has been the divorce of my mother ( numero dos!) and her susbsequent re-entry into the world of dating, complete with internet photo of her wearing Ugg Boots and blue jeans laying across her bed. I shiver even now to consider that photo.

The last divorce happened at the end of the 70's and beginning of the 80's - so there was still the basic bar dating scene. The benefits of this style of dating was , at the very least, the ability to visually size the other person up - with or without beer goggles. The ability to see the person ruled out some basic safety precautions .. ie Does he have the heads of the last women he dated mounted over his fireplace? Is he doused in "Polo" cologne? Are there visible blood stains on his clothing? Is he wearing appropriate shoes for the season? Does he talk like a midget on helium?

But the internet - well, you just can't tell these things from someone's typing! Shit - we even have spellcheck, so you can't tell if the person is illiterate.

I have warned her ad nasueum that she should stop, stop, stop this internet dating. I have told her that I will not identify her mangled body when she runs off to meet some freak in New Jersey, after not telling anyone where she is going. Nor will I bail her out of jail when she gets busted for stalking.

So, as I am on the phone with her she tells me about the guy in Nebraska who asked her to fly out for a few days. My internal self preservation instincts are screaming out "DON"T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT!!!!". However, I know that I have inherited my mothers need to do to the opposite of what ever I am told - so I pause. And say "I think most serial killers come from the Mid west."

"Ha-HA - I learned that lesson from the New Jersey trip - but I have been talking to another guy , who says he 's a lawyer, and then there is another guy who just went to Australia, and I think I could see myself falling for him....""

I am laying on the couch with my hand on top of my head - to keep it from exploding off.

Don't get me wrong. I love my mother. I am mystified by my mother, but I do love her. I am often baffled where I came from within her genetic pool, but I do love her. She gave me the gift of saying what I am thinking, and being unconcerned with housework, of being sure that I am capable of surviving anything, of being proud of being a smart woman.

And like every weekend, at the end of our conversation, I tell my mother that I love her and hang up the phone.

0 Baleful Regards:

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