I'm going to require some serious drugs for that.

It is once again icee pop time. You guessed it, we're blogging instead of eating. Well I'm blogging instead of eating. You should eat. You should have a pimento cheese sandwich on white bread.

Enough of that.

I have discovered that I have serious control issues. Or actually probably just serious all around issues. I would venture to say I'm mildly fucked up. Oops. I meant to warn you about the f-bomb. My bad.

So here's the deal. I've spent some time recently trying to distance myself away from my mother because I found myself running her life. I always attributed this to the fact because I hear about all of her problems and naturally I feel inclined to fix them, because let's face it, I'm more in touch with reality so to speak. I love my momma but it's true.

So one day I woke up and said to myself:

"Self." (That's what I call myself when addressing myself.) "You're running everyone's else's lives because you cannot run your own."

It would be a mild understatement to say that I do mediation well, very mild. I dropped the poor thing like a hot potato. I was only speaking to her once a day and that was just to verify signs of life from both interested parties.

Long story short, that was a horrible plan. There was much aggravation and many nasty bad, bad, bad words exchanged, all in the name of trying to better myself. I realize that this was a bad tactic, easy but bad. I couldn't merely ignore my predilections for running her life by not talking to her, I had to change.

Well, here comes the fun part. I am going to try and acurately portray the visual that runs through my head when talking to my mother:

Imagine if will you a wall. Imagine a shortish girl, blonde hair, very swank, hot shoes, great features, standing next to this wall.

Now begins the phone call to her mother.

Imagine swanky girl grabbing the wall with both hands (it's really only about 36 inches wide) and bashing her face into the wall repeatedly as fast as she can. Over and over and over and over. All the while screaming. (I have this visualization quite frequently.) My other favorite one is when I am stabbing myself in the face, that area right on your cheekbone below your eye and to the left of your nose, with a double sided knife, repeatedly. No blood. Just a little light maiming and puncturing.

She tells me her problems and my gut reaction is to assume she's an idiot and not only try and convince her of this fact but instruct her as well. It just seems to me that there is so much that I could do better. Than anyone really, but it manifests itself most with my mother. I think it's because we have those reversed parental roles sometimes. Makes for an interesting life.

To get to the point I had all this self-realization about 45 minutes ago. I nearly had an apoplectic fit trying not to tell her how to run her own life. I literally popped a blood vessel in my eye; I wouldn't be surprised if I have a stroke in the next 5 minutes. I just want to reach out and shake her like you do ugly babies that won't shut up.

Upon reflection I realize that I have this response a lot. My dad has always told me:

"You get excited for a little-bitty person. You're a prime candidate for a stroke."

To which I usually replied:
"I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT I'M PERFECTLY CALM ABSOLUTELY CALM IM NOT EXCITED AT ALL IM NOT HAVING A STROKE MY LEFT SIDE GOES NUMB NORMALLY. THIS HAPPENS EVERY TUESDAY AT 3:17 PM I THOUGHT IT WAS GENETIC. THIS DOESN'T HAPPEN TO YOU?"

So here's to trying out new strategies for not running my mother's life. She's obviously capable as she has survived this long and raised me to survive the 27 years I've been alive as well. I blame her. She always told me how smart and brilliant I was so it's only natural that I one day surpass her knowledge and abilities. See, this is HER FAULT!

OH DAMN THERE GOES THE OTHER EYE! DAMN APOPLECTIC FITS! PLEASE IGNORE THE FOAMING AT THE MOUTH. NO I DO NOT HAVE RABIES. IT'S JUST A FIT.

I'm going to need some medication for this.