The parental units

I am having a weird, waking/dreamlike feeling lately. Like, the days are passing, and I'm filling them up with something, but I'm not too involved or attentive to it. I am just coasting along. I can't even bring myself to get too worked up about the Reelection Nightmare, which is weird, as I love being able to rant and rave. Probably it is some combination of last week's time change, the Phoenix trip and accompanying jet lag, and the rainy weather. Whatever it is, I am alone in the office for the next two days, and I have the NPR on, and the soothing melodic voices are lulling me to sleep.

I was on the phone to my stepmother last night. It was her birthday and my dad had done a surprise party for her at the local country club, which was pretty out-of-character for him. He is getting really thoughtful in his old age, ha ha. I asked her about the food, because I love hearing about that stuff. I have eaten at their country club before, and they do one buffet of appetizers and entrees and another one of desserts. And these are Southern desserts, so you know that they are intense. I got pretty excited hearing about all the pies. What can I say? I'm sad. Everyone thinks I accepted my offer to SCAD because it's such a good school, but they are overestimating my ambition. I really accepted because of the good local pie.

My stepmother also said that she and my dad were thinking about coming up for a visit next spring before I leave DC, and that they want to time it with the end of my job so that they can help me move. This is great great news, not only because I've lived here for a year and a half and this will be the first time that they have come to see me, but also because now it means that I won't have to spend eighteen (?) hours in a U-haul truck with my mom, who has been insisting for months that she drive to Georgia with me, because she's so worried about my making the drive alone. It's cool for her to feel this way, and to express it, like, once, but she just won't take no for an answer. She's acting like it's totally unbelievable for me to go on my own, like people don't move themselves long distances on their own every damn day. I love how she is so worried about my being in a truck for 1.5 days, with a cell phone, on a big highway between DC and Georgia, when at age 20 I spent ten days taking a bus ALONE through Europe. Selective memory, I guess?

Plus I can never forget what it was like when she and my stepdad moved me into my apartment, and how she was such a wild maniacal crazed beast all day that I think I suffered about nine mild heart attacks. The incident that sticks in my mind most was when my stepdad and I were putting together the Ikea furniture, and she started unpacking the boxes by just taking random things out and putting them in the kitchen and bathroom cabinets. But none of the shelves and drawers had been cleaned in awhile, so I asked her to do that first, and she just refused. She was like, "I don't really like cleaning, so I'm not going to do it. You can do that yourself, after we leave. I like unpacking, so I'm just going to do that."

So I went all crazy and told her not to put my stuff on the dirty shelves, because I'd just have to take it all off and then clean and then put it all back, and it was a waste of everyone's time, and if she wanted to be helpful what I really needed her to do was to just wipe a damp cloth over the stupid shelves already. And she would not do it! And this an example of the ridiculous fights we always have! Because she is batty! So you see why I have been dreading having her "help" me with the move-out.

I can't foresee that having my dad and stepmom around for it all will be nearly so frustrating, because they are crazy in normal parent ways. Like my stepmom getting on me about not cleaning up the kitchen to her crazy Martha Stewart standards, or my dad telling me to quit complaining about my job because "there are starving children in Africa who would love to live in America and have my job," or something to that effect. (I am not making light of the epidemic of starving children in Africa.) Normal crap, where you respond by rolling your eyes and muttering under your breath, like any normal bratty child would do.

Not putting all my clothes in a big heap on dirty filthy shelves, Mom. Gah!!! Deep breaths! Crazy!