So here’s how this week has gone. Mama had been living the past few weeks with her new friend, Linda, “the big sister she never had.” I’m not exactly clear why, but it was certainly no fault of her own, but “things didn’t work out” and she went back to Kenny (for the 16th time, for those of you counting.) She called and let me know just how happy she was, and that Kenny had promised to be good to her, and bought her a pair of earrings as a token of his renewed commitment to their very healthy relationship.
That lasted a day.
No joke. A single day.
Then, according to her messages, “the devil got into him” and she went back to Linda’s, but that wasn’t going to work, so she was going to get herself in some program (naturally) that would “get me a place of my own because damnit I deserve that much.” (her sense of entitlement continues to baffle me.)
Then tonight she sent me a text that she had found a trailer to “take over payments on”. I asked how much it was “they owe five more years”.
“How much in dollars?”
“I think they pay $389 a month.”
“Well thats over $20,000. Seems too much for a 15 year old trailer. What happened to the one you found a few weeks ago that was only $5,000?”
“The police busted them. They were making meth.” (You’ll recall mama’s friend called to say that mama was being WAAAAYYYY too friendly with the seller of that particular piece of real estate.)
“Jesus Christ, you are the worst judge of character.”
“I’ve sacrificed my whole life for you and your sister!”
“You haven’t had a child at home for almost 20 years. So however you’ve wasted the last two decades is on you.”
At that point, the dog needed to pee, and when I came back inside, I saw she had called, so I called her back. The gist of the ensuing conversation was that she wanted me to cosign the note for this trailer. I really don’t understand why she continues to ask me for financial favors. I’ve made it clear time and again that she is barking up the wrong tree.
Naturally, I said no.
“I’m not having my credit damaged by you. You’ve never paid a bill on time in your life.”
“I’ll send you a check every month and you can pay ’em then.”
“Because I don’t want to deal with it.”
It was then I noticed she had left a message when she had called before. “If you aren’t willing to help me after I raised you, then you’re no son of mine. This ain’t right.” Blah blah blah.
Five minutes later, she called and left another message. “If you can’t help me and I gave birth to you and almost died. And I didn’t work for all those years so you could get a grant for college. And I don’t know how or why I fouled you up, maybe it was your daddy. But if you can’t help me, I am not your mom anymore. Call me A S A P.”
Of course, I didn’t call her.
So she texted me. “I guess I’ll sleep in my storage unit.”
I ignored it.
“I AM NOT A MOTHER ANY MORE.”
I resisted the temptation to reply “You never were much of one anyway.” and instead wrote back “You’re in the situation you’re in because of your own bad decisions and it’s not my job to get you out of it. If my unwillingness to be your personal banker means “you’re not my mother anymore”, then good riddance.”