Wednesday, 23 September 2009

My Mother - Homestead NARC

My mother and I, unlike you and your smelly aul maws, get on very well and rarely come to blows (rarely, but lets face it, sometimes you have to pay the fiddler*)

Alright maybe it isn't roses all the time, there's a particular foible of mumsey that really peels my orange, we'll be having a perfectly rational conversation when suddenly she'll speculate that the subtext/background cause of the conversation we're having is directly related to drug abuse when it plainly has bugger all to do with anything.

Strange to relate, but true. Just the other day I caught the cold and rang ma to get the lowdown on how to look after myself as I always forget.

"Hello ma, I have the cold" (I get straight to the point with mother, no messing)

"You were fine the other day" she warns back, the drugs abuse accusation train about to roll into the station.

"I must have got it at work, maybe I'm just run down"

"Have you been taking drugs" more statement than question, her good cop has left the room for a second and bad cop is bringing the ruckas.

"What! No!" I squirm sounding guilty as hell, even though I hadn't touched anything (officer) and anyway when was the last time you read the headlines and saw:


This isn't the first time the accusation came up, it's been happening since I turned 12 I think. Have you ever seen the movie Carrie? You know how her ma is always banging on about her 'Dirty Pillows' and chastising her burgoning sexuality - even though the poor girl cannot understand what is happening to her?

That was my childhood, growing up I was guilty until proven innocent for many despicable things in my mothers eyes, especially so if I didn't know what those things were since it just meant that I could discover what they were at some point. She was a right paradox my mum, in fact that's dads pet name for her.

I digress, I remember once getting into the car after school one day and the following exchange took place:

"Good day at school?"
"Yeah yeah, fine"
"Well, aren't we grumpy today"
"Leave it out" (used to base my style on Grant Mitchell ~ 1993)
"Are you on crack right now?"

or even one time;

"Mum, d'you have a pen?"
"What for?"
"I want to do a drawing, there's this bird just out my window"
"You're tripping off your tits on them acid mushrooms aint ya!"

I remember she ran into my room one day with a bit of scrunched up bit of tinfoil; "I found this at the bottom of your bag - you're using that crystal meth aren't you?" I didn't even reply, just walked up, grabbed the tinfoil ball and unfurled it presenting her with the foily imprint of a wheat stalk commonly found on lunch-time favourite - the Breakaway Bar.

So you see dear reader, I can't win, admittedly the question these days is becoming less accusatory and more a 'keeping the aspidistra flying' for Mum-World as I slide wearily into my end twenties but it still irks me everytime it comes up.

One day I swear, the compulsion is going to seize up in me and I'm going to answer her question with:

"Actually dearest muma, mumoo, mater, this is the only occasion, in our entire history within each others company where I haven't been completely flipping up over my gums, twiddling my brain down a powdery chalk chute into hell and stretching my mind over infinite horizons of blazing colour. In short, I'm sober for once."

Oh we have a laugh really, do me and mumoo.

*punch your ma

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