Momma’s little boy

As the remodeling continues in the office, today I was relocated to a different room, where Kallie is coordinating all the paperwork for the inventory, and I was doing my ordinary work. Kallie talked about the Rolling Stones and her hopes for an acid weekend, and I didn’t see much of Carlotta, until she burst into the room and announced to us, breathlessly, that she’d found the diary she kept in high school.

She was so amped up about it, my first thought was that she’d found it just then, in her purse or in a file cabinet in the office. But no, she said she’d found it yesterday in her attic, and it was full of “awful poetry,” she said. So of course, she read several poems to Kallie and I, but Carlotta was so giggly I couldn’t judge whether they stank or shined. Then she left the room, still laughing like she’d been listening to Carlin. 

I’m uncertain what that was all about. Maybe uncertainty is what it was about? From the giggles, she was apparently nervous about doing a poetry reading at work, but nobody had asked her to. It was her idea. I wrote poetry in high school too, but you’d have to threaten to shoot me to get a reading. No way would I volunteer.

Her best break-buddy from Accounts Receivable was laid off a few weeks ago, so maybe she’s lonely. Maybe she’s nuts. Well, definitely she’s nuts. My guess is, Carlotta is trying to connect with people — with me, with the flirting, or with Kallie, with the poetry.

Maybe you’re tired of hearing about Carlotta. Some days I get tired of her, too, but I get tired of everyone. That’s why I’m a hermit. I put up with Calotta's nuttiness because she's beautiful and makes me feel tingly.

Maybe you’re wondering why I don’t write about Kallie as much as I used to. She and me still talk, but it’s been a while since we hung out away from the office. I still like her, sure, but our range of acceptable topics hasn’t widened, so we’re mostly talking about things we’ve already talked about — The Stones, the drugs, her van, her camping, her chiropractor, her flatmates. It’s pleasant enough, but until there’s something new to report, there’s nothing new to report.

Hey, I wonder whether Carlotta says flirty things to Kallie, like she does to me? I didn’t ask either of them, though.

♦ ♦ ♦

One of the temps walked out today, but since we were working in different rooms I didn’t get to see it happen. Jennifer says she told him they’d need his services for two more weeks, and he stood there for a minute, didn’t answer, and then he just grabbed his coat and left. This was a couple of hours before quitting time. 

Jennifer told me she didn’t understand why he left, and I think she’s telling the truth. She lacks the introspection or empathy it would take to make the connection, between a temp walking away from two weeks of work, and the shitty way she treats all the temps.

♦ ♦ ♦

I checked my phone messages, and wished I hadn’t. My mom called, and said she’s coming to visit again next month. Said. She didn’t ask, she announced it as fact. Immediately, I felt a headache coming on.

She says she’s bringing my sister, Katrina, and Katrina’s family, and to me, that part of the uninvited visit sounds like fun. Just thinking of seeing my mother, though — and so soon after her catastrophic visit in August — yeah, I took three aspirin.

I don’t think Mom wants to see me. She wants to convert me. She wants me to be ten years old again. She wants me to be Momma’s little boy, and maybe I am, because I didn’t call her right back and tell her Hell No. Instead I called Katrina, who was very surprised to hear my voice for the first time in 3+ years (me and the family are not close). 

After a few minutes of catching up and some laughs, I told her my dilemma — basically, I’d be delighted to see you, Sis, but Mom is a big old pain in the arse

Katrina says I should simply lie about everything — tell Mom I’m a big fat Christian, that I go bowling with Jesus three times every week, but barf, I won’t do that. 

We talked a little longer, and I’m looking forward to seeing Katrina, but I’m not going to lie to Mom. And also, I’m not going to put up with a rerun of her bullshit from summer. 

If Mom’s visit goes as ghastly as last time, I’ll break all ties. I will fucking change my phone number. I’m already planning to move to a different rez hotel, but I’ll forget to give her the new address.

All this and more I’ve done before, when the family (mostly Mom) has been more than I was willing to handle. I’ve disconnected myself completely, twice already — for six months the first time, circa 1988, and then for two years the second time, 1991-93. If there’s a third time, I swear, it’ll be forever.

From Pathetic Life #8
Friday, January 13, 1995

This is an entry retyped from an on-paper zine I wrote many years ago, called Pathetic Life. The opinions stated were my opinions then, but might not be my opinions now. Also, I said and did some disgusting things, so parental guidance is advised.

Pathetic Life 

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