The famous cliff swallows of San Juan Capistrano, that leave town every year in a swirling mass near the Day of San Juan (October 23) should be getting ready to head for their winter vacation in Argentina. I wish my Mom would head to Argentina.
My mother must be tuned to the swallows. Every year since I've moved into the shithole I call home- which is conveniently located a few thousand feet away from the abode my mother calls home- she has followed the movement of the seasons. Once the snow hits- she limits her contact with me to the telephone. Once the melting of the icepack that covers the streets in our decidedly low-rent neighborhood occurs she increases her ability to irritate me by walking up to my house and banging on the side of the house until I arrive in disheveled condition at the door. My theory on all of this is that she has been desperate to know if I have some guy hanging out with me. For several years she has been disappointed in my lack of male guests. Now however since the end of July there has been one regular companion- which now gives her even more motivation to arrive at the most inopportune moments.
The final straw in her cyclical- seasonal migrations to and from my house happened on the anniversary of my late fiance's death.
I had just woken up and dragged myself away from the comfort of my bed and a very warm body and had just made myself my version of breakfast ( leftovers from the previous night's dinner) and had barely sat down to try to consume said leftover when the sound of pounding assaulted my reverie.
She enters the house and promptly begins to question the presence of cardboard in my living room.
I lose it.
I had hoped four days earlier to have at least three of the four days to myself so that I could sort through some of the detritus of my life and make some attempt to live with less shit cluttering up my house. Mom made sure that didn't happen. Each and every day of my four days away from my job were consumed with errands revolving around Mom.
My companion proceeded to take the glass of milk that had been freshly decanted from it's bag in the fridge and park himself on the couch. Discretion was the better part of valor in his mind.
I screamed assorted obscenities at her as I related to her that if I had at least one day to myself- maybe the place wouldn't look like the disaster area it is.
She then looked toward my companion and asked if I yelled at him the way I had just yelled at her. He replied in the negative. ( He later told me he agreed with me- but decided to stay the hell out of the drama that was unfolding inches away from his spot on the couch.)
I decided that it was time to swallow some of my little friends- (Zanax) in an effort to forget that I now have serious homicidal/matricidal tendencies toward my mother and apologized at which time she decided it was time to head for her house.
The Blizzard can't come soon enough- and I really hate winter.
