December 1, 2004

[jus' me] ^{5:47 PM}

I'm never in a good mood on wednesdays. I'm at school for 12 hours, 2 of my classes are filled with people I'd file in the "how are you not in jail or dead?" category, and my night class has me missing first-run viewing rights to Lost. Talking to fine folks on IM helps when I have the time to do it, but the cabin fever still exists.

During my "i wish i could runaway" break today (my one hour where I flee Rosslyn) I called my mother. She's scratched her new car trying to avoid hitting our cat when pulling into the garage and she was "pissed." She said "pissed" in the way that mother's do, with her voice lowered, and then moved on ask about me so she could let go of her self-inflicted car-rage. She asked if I was still stressed out hardcore like I was the other day (she said "hardcore" and it made me giggle), and then did the requisites: "it's almost over" and the "oh wow" when I mentioned what else I had left to do.

"I don't like things being perpetually infinished," I said, "it's driving me nuts. I want to get where I'm going, get done what needs to get done and that it's going to be okay. All this waiting is making me anxious and antsy."

She just started laughing, and then went all Mom on me. "You've always been that way, ever since you were little. If I said we were going to the mall, and then I'd turn into the grocery store to cash a check on the way you'd freak out. 'Why are we going here? I thought we were going to the mall? I thought we were turning!'"

Hearing my mother impersonate me as a six-year-old was enough to salvage the evening, but she kept going.

"You'd freak out if you didn't know what was next."
"Well, I don't want anything in like, engraved in marble," I said.
"No, but there's enough wiggle room right now to drive you insane."
"Yes."
"You'll be fine. I know you'll be fine. You've always been this way, it's just happening for an extended period of time and you're not used to that."
"Oh, Nigel's awake!"

My grandfather said that when he died he wanted to be reincarnated as my mother's dog so he could have an easy second life. He wasn't kidding, because Nigel being awake, and I knew this, meant that our phone call was over. We exchanged "I love you's," I hopped back on the metro to endure the History of Graphic Design (which I've made into an unofficial Advanced Doodling class).

I enjoy that my mother talked me off a ledge by telling me I've been there my entire life.

But I did feel better, because that's what Mom's do.

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