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November 10, 2005
Scratch Off My Fork With A Face
My mother is coming for a visit tomorrow. She writes in an email, "me and my aerobed will be arriving at 10:10 in the morning!"
Fantastic.
This little spur-of-the-moment jaunt is, I assume, an attempt to 'check up' on me, since I am obviously failing at life (it's true) and, moreover, not flying home for Thanksgiving (I had been meaning to, but I waited too long and the tickets to New York are now way too expensive). While she is largely correct in her suspicions that I am miserably unhappy and quite possibly a danger to myself, I can't think of anything less helpful to me than a visit from now.
Oh, and, as you may have inferred, she intends to stay in my apartment. My teeny, tiny, filthy, reeks-of-cigarette-smoke studio apartement.
Please just scratch my face off with a fork. I don't want to live.
Posted by hissycat at November 10, 2005 08:34 PM
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Comments
It's funny that your title reads, "Scratch off my fork with a face," as if your face is so hard you could cut metal with it.
I, too, have been subject to the aero-bed mother visits. Except she is the one who smokes heavily and leaves plumes of toxicity in her wake.
(Not that I'm judging you for smoking.)
Good luck.
Posted by: Karin at November 11, 2005 09:12 AM
To come off with flying colours... Warham
Posted by: Warham at November 22, 2006 03:22 AM
Death when it comes will have no denial... Melchior
Posted by: Melchior at November 24, 2006 02:52 PM