I'm home for the holidays. That is to say, I'm back in NJ at my parents' house, staying in my old bedroom, living out of a suitcase because most of the drawers in my dresser have storage stuff in them.
And - warning - I am getting highly agitated by my family. More specifically, my mother. My mother who, despite the fact she swears I'm her best friend, has no idea who I am. Or what's important to me. She's spent the whole day preaching about how ridiculous TomKat's wedding was and those religious that don't let people make up their own minds and tell people what they should do and what they should believe in and what's right and what's wrong and ... Oh The Irony. If the Roman Catholics had a Rosie the Riveter it would be my mom. Reenie the Repenter. Or the Converter. Or something. And, me? Hi, Have we met? Card Carrying Pagan.
And then there's the fact that she's been complaining ad nauseum for two days about how much weight she's gained. And for dinner she had two pieces of pie and a carton of coffee ice cream. Let me repeat that - pie and ice cream.
It's like my friend who whines all the time about her money worries ..... And so she goes out and buys a REALLY expensive mattress. Because it's her bed, right, that's keeping her from sleeping. Not her insecurity/unsecurity. Right?
There's a lot of things that drive me nuts. (Try tho I do to espouse lovingkindness.) But one thing that really gets me road raging is when people bitch about their situation while actively working to encourage that exact situation.
It's like complaining about how you hate always being hung over while you're pouring your fifth vodka martini.
So, tomorrow is Thanksgiving and I should be concentrating on gratitude and not being a bitch. But, there you have it, folks. Now you know the real me. Unfortunately, my moods don't follow a calendar.