Existential Mother’s Day Crisises

I find parental holidays strangely necessary. I always miss my father’s birthday because of school. I make up for it on Father’s Day. Yet, my mother’s birthday AND Mother’s Day are during the school year. She never gets me. I’m sure she feels jealous of the academic school year and can’t wait to get me out of formal education’s clutches. My sister’s had me miss her birthday quite frequently too. My sister turns envy into retribution. She’s in high school. She has time for it. I’m sure my mother is just storing her holiday feelings up in a little bottle. Then, when I graduate next year, she’ll slowly begin to release them as I look for farther and further places to live away. 

It will seep into my decision making me process. It will cause me to look at the places she likes and realize, hey they aren’t that bad. Then I will furiously shake my head. No! What is what I want and what is what she wants? Where do they overlap? Where do they diverge? Did I really want to attend the University I chose? Or was it just my parent’s good will towards it? Am I product of my own devices, or an empathic marionette of parental vicariousness?

-break-

Every Mother’s Day I have an existential crisis. I try so hard not to forget that I end up forgetting. Hallmark Holidays are everywhere, so I’ve taken to a habit of just ignoring them. And to make matters worse–my father’s birthday is in the between space of “What should I do for M day?” and “Oh my gosh it’s M day already?!” wherein my Mother reminds me to say something to my father–thankfully, bless her. So I end up having to split my thought time between them. Is this not unfair? 

I adjust my glasses frequently to read the screen. My allergies kill my eyes. I lost one ear-piece so they hang crooked on my head. My room is full of tissues and egg shells. The coffee pot is empty. I should have made more, then sigh. I still haven’t even emailed my mother or texted her. She should be sleeping in, or have slept in. Father will pretend that he knows how to make coffee. Sister will curl by the couch completely forgetting the day, caught in her own end-of-year antics. Mother wil smile at a yellow bouquet of flowers she received via mail order. Their container is actually a water pitcher. She’ll smile when I tell her. We’re both so practical like that. &i

I sit here typing away on a blog that should be used to showcase my talents, not my life, and wish that I didn’t have papers and finals to take that distract me from what I’m really focusing on. It’s not a matter of time. It’s a matter of prioritizing that time. And both do I want to not prioritize anything that has anything to do for a grade. 

 

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