She IS My Headache July 13, 2004 - 3:08 p.m.

Soooo...

I went to my mom's house for a day or two this past weekend. I was going to buy flea stuff for the dogs and cats, then put it on them. When we went to get it, my mom was getting some other stuff and just wrote a check for everything. Afterwards, she wouldn't accept my money. She insisted that I let her take care of it. So I bought dinner for her, Chris, and myself. And now, the poopies and kitties have anti-flea stuff so they aren't as itchy and are getting more oxygen. That makes me feel better, because it had been bugging me for awhile now.

I was annoyed with my mom because she was off all day Monday and did nothing. And while I understand that she works constantly and needs to relax a bit, I also understand that her house is a complete fucking shithole that needs to be gutted and emptied. And she can't do this while sitting on her ass and watching soaps. When she said she was going to watch her soaps, I said fine. I'll let you sit there for three hours, relax, and enjoy TV. But once they were over and she started talking about not wanting to do anything because she was tired or go anywhere because of traffic - we still needed to go get the pet stuff at this point - I got up, grabbed a trash bag, and told her to say goodbye to her trash.

I walked into the kitchen, opening the trash bag. She jumped up pretty quickly for someone who was claiming to be so tired, saying things like 'wait a minute' and 'what are you doing'.

I opened the bag under the dining room table and swept a pile of rings from two liter bottles into it. As soon as she saw it, she freaked out, took the bag from me, and said 'I'll clean my own house'. THEN FUCKING CLEAN IT!

Rings from two liters.

Ya know, the plastic ring that's part of the lid, cap, top thingy. That ring that separates itself from the bottle cap once you open it, but stays around the neck of the bottle. She has a hundred of these things, easily. She has jars of them stashed somewhere. But she also had this little pile of them on the table, which is where I decided to start cleaning.

What's the purpose of keeping these things, you might ask? Well, beats the hell out of me. For probably fifteen years now, she has claimed that she wants to use them to make napkin rings out of.

What the fuck kind of ghetto napkin rings does she plan on making?!

And it's not like we have, or even have the occasions to use, cloth napkins. So, what? She's going to decorate perforated plastic rings then shove paper napkins through 'em? Hell, even if we did have cloth napkins, the rings aren't big enough to serve her intended purpose.

Maybe that's what I need to do. Get a cloth napkin and show her just how shittily they'd fit in her ghetto napkin rings.

These rings are only a portion of the junk collected in her house. She has stacks of lids from microwave dinners. She has dozens of carry-out trays from her work. She has piles and piles of cups, in various disposable forms. Styrofoam, plastic, paper. With and without labels. Empty containers of all kinds are scattered everywhere, not just in the kitchen. She saves labels and packages from anything you can think of. Cereal boxes, candy wrappers, chip bags. She has an abundance of empty vegetable cans. Stacks upon stacks of newspapers and junk mail. You name something worthless, and she probably has it.

And if I ever try to throw anything away, she claims there is a purpose for it. Whatever it may be. I’ve tried to help her clean, and she either tells me she can do it herself when she doesn’t like my opinion on trash or I get the martyr act, complete with tears. Oh, she’s so busy. Oh, she can’t do it on her own. Oh, she doesn’t need to be reminded that the place looks horrible. Well, if it still looks like that, then maybe she does. Maybe I’m not reminding her enough. And if she won’t let me throw anything away, how can I help her?

It’s beyond frustrating. If it weren’t for Romeo and Twink, I’d never go over there. I hate it. Immensely. It literally makes me sick. When Chris dropped me off, I couldn’t stop crying. I wanted to go see my pets, it was my choice to go over there. I’m so sad when I’m not around them for so long. But having to contend with her and that place just drives me nuts. And it’s that much worse when I think about Romie and Twink - even Lady and Oreo, which are her pets - being stuck there. I feel so guilty for not being able to do something better for them.

Mix my normal reactions of anger and disgust from the house, then add heartbreak for my pets… and I’m a mess whenever I’m there. It’s slowly killing me. I’m completely drained while I’m there.

The only thing that ever helps, is having the pets around. Particularly Romeo and Twink who are both the sweetest, most cuddly pets ever. They both love attention just enough so that it’s not annoying. Twink uses my room as her safe haven while I’m there, otherwise the door stays closed. Romeo also prefers to stay in there, but he follows me around everywhere as well. Unless I’m in the kitchen or go quickly into the basement, he’s always close by.

Like I’ve said, they’re the only reasons I go to her house. If it weren’t for them, I’d seriously tell her to fuck off and that I wouldn’t go over there for more than an hour at a time, unless it was to actually help clean. But I’ve gone over there on several occasions with the intentions to clean - her request - yet nothing happened.

She’s a pain. A complete pain. And I don’t know what to do about it.

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