Well, a post of waah.
So my mother called. I got the message on the machine. It was a perfectly calm request for assistance finding some information. For most of you, I hope, this would be the normal state of things. For me, it's a little less so.
Some time ago, probably last August or somewhere near there, she called when I wasn't home and got my message machine. Twice. Within an hour. While I was out. The second message snaps nasty about how I obviously don't want to talk to her anymore.
And I realize how much easier that would be.
Taaaa daaaa! Freedom. No more stress feeling like I should be something I'm not or that I need to go back to work just in order to have unlimited funds to pass her way. No more listening to how horrible life is to her or feeling guilty for suggesting (horror of horrors) that she change something to make said miserable life better.
So, considering how this would go.... I don't call back.
I sent out presents for Christmas. (My youngest sister and her children still live out there and talking or not talking to one means talking or not talking to both. And youngest sister is set on drama and I was a little tired or worrying constantly whether she was headed back to jail, so it seemed like a good solution even here.) But I'm not willing to let the children suffer for my lack of strength.
Youngest sister kept the presents for her and for the children, but Mom sent hers back saying 'Since you don't love me anymore....' etcetera etcetera something something. She included several "Best Mom/Mother's Day" things we'd made as children because obviously we did not mean them anymore. (If I stop talking to her, it automatically includes the middle sister, since she has joined me in my horrible college-going, job-keeping, and bill-paying ways and now lives about five miles from me in the Big City (only to country dwellers) instead of rurally, like the other two do.)
She called in tears in early January wanting me to do some internet research on Youngest Sister's (ten-years-ex) ex-husband who had apparently just killed himself. See, drama. Youngest Sister supposedly laughed about it. I had Hubby call back to keep from being drawn into the drama trap (I've gone this road before, years ago when I was the ungrateful daughter who has been trying to kill her forever, starting with the time I pushed her down the stairs when I was one), but she already knew everything through the gossip grapevine and didn't need me to find anything.
Aha! I was right. First is the fight. Then is the tearful plea for help. Then the call like everything is fine and we are the perfect happy family and there was never a problem.
Well, since we skipped the fight -- sort of -- and Hubby took care of the plea for help to keep me out of it all, I guess it's time for the nothing happened, normal life call.
But I don't wanna.
I like this low-stress time I've had. (Well, I guess not entirely low stress since I've been having all these odd medical problems and the near-death pulmonary embolism -- but imagine how much worse it would have been had I spent all that sick time trying to take care of them as well as myself and my family). I dislike having to double-think everything that comes out of my mouth to be sure I'm not sounding uppity or disapproving or like I know better than them. I'm not good at constant sympathy for people who hate their lives but aren't willing to make changes because at least the misery is comfortable and familiar. (See, I am somewhat disapproving -- that makes it harder) And I don't have the savings account right now to bail them out when they run low on money (we've done fun things with it the last two years -- Gencon, Vegas, Chicago -- not only the savings, but the credit card too, not so responsible-big-sister here, this time. :) They'll need to call Middle Sister if they want money -- but the reason she has money is that she's responsible with it and doesn't just hand it out.
And I don't wanna.
But on the good side, I have a schedule. I have writing time circled on the big Google calendar in the clouds. I also have gym time and activities for the children there. And as soon as I figure out how to make the children (and myself) respect the writing time I will get so much done!
It will be amazing.
As I gaze in wonder on the great works of art that have yet to be painted.