I do love my mother. I feel the need to make that clear.
We went to a skating rink tonight. (I felt old and decided that I passionately hate everyone under the age of sixteen. They're all morons.)
We skated for a bit. I was in pain because I'd eaten cake today (nonvegan, chocolate [caffeine], and wheat-filled) and I was in intense pain all around. She was in pain because she always is and she managed to fall.
This was shocking. She hasn't fallen since I've been alive. (We saw a screw on the floor earlier, and she was skating backwards. We figured she must've tripped on that.) Regardless, it was amazing. And I missed it.
So we spent most of the night half-yelling over the music and talking about love, faith, life, and the relative virtues of organised religion. It was fabulous. I wish we could do that more often.
She really is a smart, wise, funny lady. She just loses track of things a lot, like everyone, and is hard for me to handle when she's flipping out.
I think we'd probably get along a lot better if we hung out a couple of times a week and lived apart, to be honest. Not that we fight as it is, t'would just prevent a lot of the cons. She's a much better friend than she is a mother. And there's absolutely nothing wrong with that. S'quite nice, in fact.
revoless.
12:19 a.m.
September 27, 2003.
Listening to: my fan.
Selections from conversations with a mother or Words and music. Always the same