I think that I am finally able to acknowledge the amount of stress that my mother brings out in me. A sample of our conversation:
Her - are you bringing clothes to work out in? You can if you want you know. You can go to the gym and work out. You’ll have time. So if you want you should bring clothes to work out in.
Me - no mom I’m ok.
Her- oh. Ok. Well what about dinner? What do you want for dinner? You and Stuart eat so … Different than I do. What do you want for dinner?
Me - I want you to stop talking. I want to talk to dad. I want to completely regress to my 19 year old self and just lie there and be too high/hungover to listen to any words that you are saying. I want to say all of that out loud.
Wishing you the meekest mildest Christmas you can handle.
