15.4.00

Mother, Mother

Communicating - or attempting to communicate - with my mother is like taking a trip and arriving in the wrong destination, even after checking the maps carefully and asking for navigation. She will say one thing and often want or do something else entirely (incidentally, it's a trait I've found myself picking up - I'm eager to shed it before it clings).

Case in point: she told me that if ever I felt homesick or in need of talking to her whilst in the States, I need only call her collect, upon which point she would decline the call and ring me straight back. I didn't think I'd really need to take advantage of her offer, but when it's almost 1am, your fiancee is at work, there's nothing on television, everyone else is asleep and the cat is too tired to play with you - sometimes talking with your mother can be a welcome distraction. So far I've been quite good about being the proverbial 'stranger in a strange land' - I haven't once found myself curled upon the bed, rocking back and forth, crying my eyes out and wondering what on earth I've done. I'm quite happy here, and whilst plans to live in Australia again are a goal for the future, I would like to be here for a good long time. Yet I still think to myself, "Ye gods, I'm in America", and who better to ground you in your own reality than your mother?

I thought, quite foolishly perhaps, that she'd be happy to hear from me; maybe she's even - gasp! - been missing me or something ridiculous like that. It sounded like it couldn't be further from the truth. She wasn't curt with me, but her voice didn't reflect happiness or relief, either. Our call was very short, because she decided not to call me back, and seemed worried by the expense of talking to me long (long) distance. We said our hello's, she wondered why I hadn't written her email for a couple of days, she told me that she and the father had looked after Dylan last night whilst Alex and Brad went to a party (the little one slept in my ex-bedroom in his portable cot). I asked her how she was, asked her to say hello to Joanne, I told her about Nathan's parents, family, and pets. Smalltalk, light chit-chat. Nothing of importance, really - but comforting nonetheless. She wanted the call ended as soon as possible; the concern of the cost hung over our words, and I felt like a burden for even wanting to speak with her.

Had she bothered to ask how I was, my answer may have gone along the lines of, "I'm good - better than good. I love being here. It's nice not being yelled at for leaving a cup on the coffee table, or not wiping the sink down after use, or being told time and again that this house isn't mine and I should get out before I'm killed. I still feel a bit uncomfortable, though... I feel as though any moment now I'm going to be called a slacker and thrown out onto the street. I know I can't have a job here yet until I gain citizenship, and I'm loving the opportunity to rest and kick back for a little while, but it still gets to me. Probably from years of dad telling me I'm useless, I guess."

She didn't ask, so those words were never said. Had I the opportunity to express to her how I was, would she have cared? Maybe not. How I wish she actually wanted to listen, wanted to know what was going on with me, wanted to hear my voice.

Before I prepared to move, I discussed with Nathan the serious possibility of cutting all communication with my parents for a period of two or three months. It would partly be a way to express to my mother that I don't like being treated in accordance with her moodswings; that I can recognise how damaging our relationship has been over the last few years, to the both of us. I don't particularly care to speak to the father ever again, despite how "nicely" he acted around Nathan and myself for my last week in Australia, so he's the least of my worries in this respect. However, it would have hurt my mother a great deal - she would have taken it more than personally, and probably have stepped up to the next level and disowned me. I've written her email - yet she hasn't seemed to cotton on to the idea that she can send me letters whenever she likes, too. I called her - but she didn't want to talk because it would cost too much. Why am I wasting the energy trying to stay in contact with her when she doesn't want to extend the same warmth to me?

Another question I am forced to ponder is this: had I gone through with my plan to cut ties with her for a little while, would she even have noticed?

Probably enough to cut me out of her will.

The hour is late and I'm given to babble at times like this. I'm probably reading far too much into nothing at all - and when I do that, it's best just to sleep it off. Or at least immerse myself in an activity that doesn't require too much active personal thought - i.e., reading a book such as the one sitting on the desk beside me, "Web Design In A Nutshell". Is it completely sad that I seriously exclaimed, "Oooohhh!" upon spying a chapter on dHTML?

I would say that perhaps it is.

Goodnight!