Phone-y Baloney

All that said, there is a part of me that wants to call Mom on all the trash talk and misinformation she is buzzing about in her corner of the universe. I want to also set her straight. And call her on her less than flattering conduct over the years. Maybe send another letter. (as if it would meet with a different fate than the one she'd sent to me...)

But I won't do any of that because truthfully, there is some relief for me in the notion of decisiveness and finality. I feel as though I've spent half of my waking life dealing with Mom.Or her nonsense. Or her social drama. Or something else she's cooked up and served on a platter for those around her to be force fed like future fois gras geese.

There is so much that I'd love to enlighten Mom about. Share my opinion. Correct the impression. Things that I'd like to remind her about that she remembers a little less clearly.

But it is a waste of time. And energy. And a drag on my soul.

And it no longer is important enough to warrant these sacrifices. I genuinely don't care.

Mom and Charlotte touch base a few days later. Charlotte reports that there was no mud slinging about my response to The Insipid Letter.

There are a few possible reasons:

1 - She knows Charlotte will repeat every last nasty word and wants to come off as The Fairest of Them All.

2 - She wants Charlotte to be able to tell me "Mom doesn't give one good S*** about what you did. She didn't even mention it. Talked about the weather."

3 - She really doesn't care. I am dead to her.

It could be all three. But she must be flapping to someone.

Joe.

A few days later I am at my desk enjoying the relative peace of having finally dealt with Mom when I get a text from Joe.

"What's going on with you and Mom?!"