I think I can finally admit it...

I don't like my mother.

I am certain I have alluded to this fact in other posts over the past three years. Now however, I am pretty certain that this is more fact as opposed to speculation.

"CP, MY GOD! How could you not like your own MOTHER???"

Bottomline? She's a phony. She's a bigot. She's a snob. She's everything that I am not and everything I strive not to be. If she weren't my mother, I wouldn't choose to be friends with her. She's not someone I would run in the same circles with and I certainly wouldn't go out of my way to befriend her.

Case in point. My father just had surgery, a full knee replacement, earlier this week. Me, asshole that I am, came running up to NY from Florida to make sure I am there for her. After all, her husband was going to be in the hospital and she would have to undergo all the tasks of running the house by herself. I also felt compelled to be here (I am still in NY at the time of this posting. Someone remind me to clear the history bar!) because my father is not a well man. Every time he goes under anesthesia, it is a dangerous and potentially fatal situation.

Was this gesture appreciated by my mother? No. She tells me that she feels she has been "hospitable" to me. Excuse me? Is this a Best Western? I have to be hosted? The woman talks about me behind my back. Apparently, she feels I am a drug addict because I take my bipolar and schizophrenia medications. They make me tired. That is a side effect that can't be helped. I borrowed her car to go meet a friend from junior high school who I haven't seen in 25 years. She cautions me not to "get high" while using her car.

Bi. Polar. Disorder. Not recreational drugs.

Like I said, she's a snob. I think that she feels because of my ailment, she has produced a less than perfect product. Have I the heart to tell her that my condition is genetic? Damn straight. All the women in my family are prone to violence and psychosis. I am the only one who opted to do something about it...and yes, it changes me. But, I believe it has changed me for the better.

My flight home was supposed to be tomorrow. I called my husband and begged him to make it earlier...just get me out of this house. I feel like the walls close in on me here and she is absolutely venomous when it comes to my recovery.

So there you go. I don't like my mother. Sometimes I question if I even love my mother or if I simply feel obligated to love her. She loves to remind me how she had a "perfect body" before my cesarean scar ruined her stomach. Ouch. You blame your infant for not having a perfect bikini body any longer?

My breasts and crotch are pretty much located in one central area since having my babies. I don't blame them for that. I love them for that. So my tits aren't up to my throat anymore. Big deal. So my stomach isn't flat now. So what? I have stretch marks on my stomach that resemble NASCAR peeling out on my lower abdomen. Does it matter? No. These are the lines of love...the result of having my babies. I don't resent them and I certainly don't blame them.

My mother is out at the beauty parlor right now. The house is so quiet without her here and I am sucking it up for all that it is worth. My flight leaves tonight at 7pm and it cannot come fast enough.

Someday, I pray my children don't write these same things about me. I don't think they will. I think they will remember me as a loving, supportive and sometimes a bit crazy mom. That's the joy of having a mother who is mentally ill.

I can't say I'll ever know that joy.

I am SO over Facebook...

so I caved. I joined. And now, I wish I hadn't.

Sure, it got me back in touch with some friends from when I grew up in Queens, New York. That was fun while it lasted.

Bottomline is, Facebook is one of the most useless programs out there. I am sick of applications like "Name your five favorite ice cream flavors" or requests to "Save the planet by clicking here". It's pointless. Do I really care what someones name looks like in chinese or in colored letters? No. I don't.

When I originally joined, it was amusing, I admit. Now, it is like an addiction that you can't stand. I check my Facebook account about 5 times a day seeing if anyone has updated. It's the same four people over and over again. After awhile, I feel like I don't give a shit about them any longer. I trimmed my friends list down to people I actually talk to. It made me go from 108 friends to 47. I like it better this way. It's like a small community rather than a big city.

Don't get me wrong. Facebook has its place in the world. However, on my computer will not be one of them anymore. I am giving up Facebook for lent, and I am not even catholic. It will be like withdrawing from a drug...but I feel I can do it.

Tomorrow.