Friday, September 02, 2005



I arrived home to Massachusetts for my Mom's birthday. I don't come home that often, so it's easy for me to forget what it's like here. My family arrived to pick me up from the airport already screaming at each other. In my first five minutes with them, my mother and father each (separately) asked me to bring him or her back with me to help them escape the other. They fought about the way out of the airport, they fought about how to use the parking pay meter, then when they somehow lost the parking ticket between the machine and the gate to the garage, they fought about that as well. Meanwhile, their anger at each other began to spill out at the world as they started yelling at my 10-year-old niece (who lives with them) for standing, walking, breathing, laughing wrong. And the part that creeped me out was how used to it she seemed. I guess it reminded me of what it was like when I was the little girl who bore the brunt of how much these two people just plain don't like each other.
I had flown in on the red-eye, and I can't sleep on planes, so by the time I reached my parents' house at about 8 a.m., I was totally exhausted and needed some sleep. About 20 minutes after I went to bed, though, my mom came in the room and woke me to cry to me about how much she hates my dad. Is my vacation over yet?
It's funny, though, because in some ways, being home is good for me. It forces me to be the sane one, the responsible one, the calm one, since there's no one else here to do that. Still, though, less than 4 hours into my trip and I can't wait to get back to California and be crazy myself again. What does that say about me?

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