Désolée

The sort-through-my-crapathon is on, and stressing me out. I hate, hate, hate moving - which is why I never do it. I lived in the same house in college for three years. I've lived in my current place for four. Which means the sortage is EPIC. And it needs to be completed by Friday.

That's the background. My mother called me yesterday and asked me if I'd like to come over for dinner, and oh, while you're here, go through some boxes in the basement and some up in your room. I'll admit it - I semi-flipped out on her. I've got a lot going on right now, you keep making me go through the same stuff. Half the time it's not even my stuff, etc. Yeah, I'm not proud of myself.

When she called, I was on my way to the gym. There are certain moments of every day that are ripe for revelations. My first few moments waking up are like that. (Even though I'm a night owl, I'm also a morning person - disgusting, isn't it?) When I was a programmer, I used to wake up and have these realizations about whatever had stymied me the day before. "Oh, but if I code a semaphore..." (Note: outside of my CS degree, I never coded a semaphore.) Time spent brushing teeth is also thought-productive. And, finally, working out. I was mid-hamstring curl when the thought that I had been a complete, unmitigating bitch to my mom struck me. I resolved to apologize to her. Thinking on it, I couldn't remember a time when I'd ever apologized to her. Was that possible? Because I've certainly been super-obnoxious to her!

Thanggod for cellphones - I was able to call her right away. I apologized for my behavior, and her response was, "Okay, you're still coming for dinner, right?" WHAT? I tried it again, with the same kind of stonewalling on her part. Third time's the charm, though: she said, "I just want you to enjoy your things, and not forget anything here that you may want." Aww, how sweet. Which made me feel worse, and better at the same time.

Ah, mothers - they program your buttons, so they can push 'em at any time.