So I've been here one day and my mind is starting to rot. My folks have a lifestyle they've been developing for fifty years for the purpose of seeing to their own comfort, and it works quite well -- but what am *I* doing? Mostly waiting around for other people to do things. I know what I need to do; it's a matter of *doing* it -- start modeling what *I* want *my* life to be like and making it happen. And *right now*, not "after I get back." And even if my brain does feel like useless white fluff. Get on the bike and go for a hard ride, and see if that helps.
My mom wants to lecture my son on her idea of Gracious Living. I told her flat out that any lecture from her at any time on any subject will produce nothing but bad feelings (I didn't state the reasoning, which is that she doesn't know what she's talking about, and Zack is merciless with people who pretend to knowlege they don't have), and she first tried to get me to help her pretend to Zack that she *does* know what she's talking about, and when she discovered I wouldn't lie to him cut off discussion. So how to keep the day from turning into a monstrous fight?
Had an interesting after-breakfast talk, mostly with my Dad.
Historical Example, the conversation with my Mom I'd posted about here last week. Substance:
I told her Zack had a problem with her behavior. She responded by attacking his housekeeping habits. I got her back on subject. She claimed I was attacking her, and refused to continue the conversation.
My Dad pointed to the same behavior in my Mom's sister, and used her as an example instead of my Mom, which was a good tactic in that my Mom could listen to criticism of her sister's behavior rather than her own without interrupting every few words.
I think the reasonable, right, and appropriate response to revisionist history is to pick up the nearest heavy object and beat the revisionist historian into a bloody pulp on the spot. KILL. THEM. NOW. If this were the soceitally accepted form of behavior, the entire Executive Branch, the Senate, and about three-quarters of the House of Represenatatives wouldn't have made it to their 25th birthdays, and we would live in a much better and more honest country as a result. Maybe even one that works.
To the revisionist historian, what *you* think or remember, or what the camera shows or the recording sounds, is irrelevant. History is what they want it to have been, *regardless* of what it was. KILL. THEM. NOW. The next time you talk with one, pick up the nearest shovel and beat it to death. IT IS NOT POSSIBLE FOR CIVILIZATION TO EXIST WITH SUCH PEOPLE IN IT, AND OUR TOLERANCE OF THEM IS WHY OUR CIVILIZATION IS COLLAPSING. KILL. THEM. NOW.
When I was 17, I had an argument with my Mom in which she was doing the revisionist history thing, and I got so mad I couldn't contain myself. Rather that hit her, I turned and punched a hole in the wall. I'M SORRY, WORLD. I shouldn't have turned. I apologize for the several hundred times since them I could have stopped her mouth, and didn't. She's my Mom, I can't do that. If someone else does, I can cheer them on, but I can't do it myself.
My Dad has lived with her for fifty years. I need to ask him why. I need to stay here long enough to help Zack set up his trip with Caro, then I can go away and never come back.
I have to calm down enough to book my ticket out of here. I can't do that yet; I don't have the patience back to sit through the dozen webscreens it'll take to get me out of here.