| > 21 february 03 'blood' why is is that mothers and daughers everywhere seem doomed to constantly disagree and argue? this blood that binds us may someday end up dripping from the walls - at least the way it goes in my home some days. i always tell myself not to speak to my mother for more than a few minutes at a time, otherwise we'll break into argument [sometimes petty, sometimes serious]. it may sound exaggerated, but ask my fellow family members, and they will vouch. we always seem to be coming from opposites ends of the planet, our opinions on a subject just shooting right past each other [or into each other]. in high school, i relished our fights, those screeching matches between us; it was an adrenaline rush for me. now, at the ripe old age of 20, i tire of them [thankfully, those scream filled nights are rare] and can be the calm one even during our heated battles. my two best girl friends know what i'm speaking about, as they too have to deal with their mothers in a negative way. it saddens me to have this type of relationship with my mom [as i always joke grimly to myself 'i do love my mother, i just don't like her']. we get along on the surface, and for events or moments when there's nothing remotely serious to speak of ['please pass the salt' or 'so, how was your day?'] but we rarely can have a serious discussion. on a psychological note, i do know that through high school and even now, i wished to have her approval of me, to have her full encouragement and genuine satisfaction with my accomplishments throughout my life. she tends to be negative, a realist [read: pessimist], and as the eldest daughter, i wished to be perfect in her eyes. but, she tends to knock down everyone in our family at times [in her blunt way that i don't think she knows is so damaging], so maybe i shouldn't feel so bad. the saying is true 'absence makes the heart grow fonder'. maybe when i move out and we separate for a good while, when we come together again, we might somehow find that we really weren't all that different in the first place [...while we both smile sweetly and reach for the nearest butcher knife.] |
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| Jim Dine, 'My Name is Jim Dine 2' [1992] |