Every two weeks on Tuesdays after school, I go to have my hair done. And may I say it is fantabulous. I think this is the longest my hair has been since I was 18. I'm going to keep letting it grow to see just how long, within reason, it will get.
So I'm driving home, with a stop at Berkeley Bowl (Perhaps you will see the results of that stop tomorrow.), and decided to do my usual thing while driving -- call relatives. I hadn't spoken to my dad's cousin (I guess I could have said "my first cousin once removed" but then how many people would have known what that means?) and it's a good thing that I did. She asked how my stepmother was doing. I started talking about last week's test results. She cut me off and told me that my stepmother was in the hospital. Huh? I had tried to call my stepmother earlier in the day and had not received an answer. (This was per my dad's request before he left town for a business trip to SoCal.) So yeah. My stepmother is back in the hospital.
My dad called by the time I was home. He was shocked to learn that I already knew that my stepmother was in the hospital. If anything, I've got to say that our family networking system is fantastic. He was able to give me more details. It seems that over the last few days, my stepmother has been in a lot of pain. (You know. I am thinking that I may have to find a nickname for the woman that is shorter than the word "stepmother" because I'm getting tired of typing it over and over again. I guess that I could go with SM but that just doesn't seem to do it for me. Although it could also be an abbreviation for my name in the early days of the marriage -- stepmonster.) Back to the story. Today she asked her brother to drive her to the doctor. They discovered that she has some blood clots near her lungs. So now she's in the hospital for three to four days while they pump her up with anticoagulants.
I had talked to my mother before hearing all this news tonight. (This was to return her phone call from earlier that she made right after school started. She is confused about the time change since Mexico will not be changing time until April.) So I called her back to give her the update. She feels for all the stuff that my stepmother is having to go through.
Oh, and when I was talking to my mother the first time last night, I did mention to her the whole getting-rid-of-the-dog conversation.
I asked, "Isn't there a statement that you made that you thought was kind of strange? Something about having no patience?"
"Oh. You mean when I said, 'I am not meant be a parent'?"
"Yes. You meant to add, 'At this time.' Right? Because I was talking about your statement to someone else and said that this must be the case. This person told me that I was just trying to clean up your statement for you."
"No, that's what I meant. I didn't have much patience when you were growing up. I probably should have never been a parent."
So I guess I was right when I said that I had figured that one out a long time ago. We laughed over this for some time. Even if she was joking tonight, it's still kind of disturbing. And it's a good thing that I knew how to go out to find substitute mothers. At 40 years old, it still hurts to know that in some way your mother really didn't want you around. But like I said, I figured this out a long time ago. Probably around the time that she told me that she was disappointed to find out that I was a girl and told my dad to return all the blue stuff that she had bought. I've heard this story for too many years to count. Still hurts though. And there's probably not enough therapy in the world to get rid of the feeling.
And thankfully the experiment is progressing quite nicely. Only a little over a month to go before I release my findings. All I will say is that right now the experiment results are looking very positive.
And as a final note, I'd like add this to my mother.
I know that you now say that you are so proud of me. But I'm sorry for fucking up your life so monumentally. I know what a little shit I was. I am sorry for looking so much like that man with whom you knew you could not live. I am sorry for being 40 and having your friends still consider me to be pretty/beautiful. (By the way, I know what it feels like to be afraid of being replaced by a younger model.) I am sorry for the people we know thinking that I am a nice person. And so I will continue to do penance as your personal assistant. In a Naomi Campbell kind of way. Or pretty close to it. But now I don't live in your house so it's a little bit harder for your to throw things at me, to wave your fist in my face. Because I realized that I am not the things that you have led me to believe that I am through your actions. Even though your words say something completely different. Scratch that about the words. Your favorite name for me when you were pissed off at me back when I was in my teens was "manipulative bitch." I like to think that I have finally grown into that one.
So I am trapped between the two women my father married. Both probably would be happier if I didn't exist. One thinks of me as an encumbrance. The other thinks that I am a spoiled brat, deflecting the attention from her. Hmmm. Perhaps she thinks of me as an encumbrance as well.
So after years of accepting the way things are I am once more feeling a little sad and insecure. Especially given all that has been going down in my life as of late. And believe me when I say that there is more than what I have posted here. Thankfully I have enough self-esteem these days to believe that I am/can be the Empress of the Universe. Or maybe that was the Empress of Fashion.
Damnit! Where's Tito when you need him?