10:27 p.m. - October 20, 2002
Grab what you can and flee
Horror.
Sister informs me of my mother's surprise plot: A week-long visit, chez moi.
Quickly planning get-away trip. Must be far.
Bathsheba, let's talk.
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Shame registers, though not in sufficient quantity to embrace my mother's plans.
A day or two I can handle; a week? Out of the question. She is the oil to my stove-top fire, the quillotine operator, stress and assured deliverer-of-unpleasantness incarnate.
I had lunch with her while I was in DC; what more can she possibly want? I had Thanksgiving with her last year; there were enough hugs and family-values to last a lifetime, if you're into alternative family structure and dynamics.
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I'm putting together two papers for the big national conference in April. Yeah, I don't know why either.
That's untrue.
It makes me feel good, that's why.
Tsk, tsk. External validation.
