Kim

No More Mum

Sometimes I hate where I live. I think it's more the fact
that I sometimes hate the person I live with. I've become a
Mum to a 28 year old kid. And that's simply the fact of the
matter. I'm his memory as well as my own. I clean up after
him and ask him to do things, like all mothers ask of their
kids and do for their kids.And last night when I got home
from a lovely Easter day with the family I had to clean out
the laundry sink that was full of solded and cut up metal
rock crap he'd tipped off his train set. And when I made
mention to it he was "Oh my heart bleeds."

I remember Mat saying that he knows me. He doesn't know me,
because if he did, he'd realise saying something like that
to me means with smiles "your time will come" And it will
come. I'm very patient in my returns. He wont even realise.
Difference is I don't get mad easily, but once pushed
beyond a limit there is no coming back. No one really sees
it. No one really has totally, fully seen it. Just a few
have seen edges of it. I don't think I have fully seen it
myself, because I try and disperse any agitated feelings
elsewhere before they get too much that I can't do anything
with them, but react. I hate being mad or angry, so I
usually control that within myself. But piss me off beyond
my measure and it's a totally different story. *tick tick
tick kaboom*

I've decided to make my living a comfortable one. Do things
for myself to keep myself happy. Clean things I want clean,
because they keep me happy and content and not do anything
for him. Go out of my way for him or be his memory. Slowly
without much notice by him I'll do things I want to do. And
there is one place I wont go and that's his room. I don't
think even his Mother would go there. I don't think any
living human would. Maybe he's not human.

But I'm certainly doing something about it for myself,
before I fail to be one myself.