dear mom,
I didn't write to you on mother's day though I intended to. I spent the entire day at home in intentional isolation because I just needed to sit with you. I've been avoiding almost everything crucial in my life. Like do I even have healthcare? It probably doesn't matter now. That job application I want to submit? It's not 'easy apply' so I can't be bothered. My credit card bills? It's all on autopay, I just hope it's not more than what's in my checking account... but who has the time to login and check? Yet another parking ticket? I don't know, has it been 21 days yet? I'll check it tomorrow. Unemployment? At least I actually can ignore that while I'm still on an hourly position.
It's definitely... something.. to feel like writing here is just another chore when the entire point of creating this space for myself was to help quiet my brain.
I re-started therapy this week. Well kind of. I wanted to catch her up on what she missed while she's been on maternity leave, but I don't have the budget to continue regularly. I admitted to her that I haven't been writing to you, and as a result, I haven't really sat still. Probably on purpose. This is the same pattern for myself as always, but maybe taken too far because I find myself having to come down from self-inflicted overwhelm. I'm just walking around from point A to activity B in a brain fog, wondering if I'll ever stop feeling tired.
I still have my 'impact statement' bouncing around in my head. It's sounding particularly louder, though not clearer, tonight ahead of your death day. There's a lot going on tomorrow. Not necessarily by design but also maybe not not by design. We're celebrating a bride-to-be. I've been convinced to go to a concert. I have a quick coffee date and need to do a little dumpling prep. It's also one of my friend's birthdays. Days like this are why I need long nights alone to just cook a full several component meal all for myself.
If you could drop by for an evening in, I would make this these teriyaki glazed pork ribs that I craved on a whim when I spotted a leftover jar of teriyaki sauce in the fridge. I would slow roast them while charring some cabbage and maybe telling you about my long mundane day. I would boil a pot of pasta for a chilled mac salad while you might nag me about my job - maybe you'd be unsatisfied with something about my role because I made one negative comment that you took as permission to harp on. I would make a dressing of kewpie mayo, ginger, garlic, sugar, and cilantro for the teriyaki mac salad while you might start picking at the ribs, probably asking why there isn't rice, and I would tell you that that wasn't my vision. Finally I'd cut an Asian pear because I had it and I think it will complement the sweetness of the teriyaki. And you would appreciate the post dinner fruit-as-dessert. We would eat it in silence seated in my little living room, where I would sit on the ground and you would probably ask why I'm sitting on the ground, and I would say it's fine I like sitting on the ground. I'd probably eventually put on a show on the TV I never use, while we'd lick our bones clean.
I miss you on this anniversary,
Amelia
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