In my early twenties and fresh out of Graduate school, I was tight with my mother. We were like sisters (so I thought). My mother was still very youthful looking, very beautiful and she had "game". My mother was the life of the party. She was the master of the "one liner". She did keep us in stitches. Her vocabulary for insults was extraordinary. Martha could take any one's flaw and embellish it to the point that you would purely hate them. Every time that person's name was mentioned, that flaw flew in your face first. I was "Miss Goody Two Shoes" and "Miss Rich Bitch", to my face. There is no telling what I was behind my back.
Like; "Old lady Hock Heel", was the name my mother gave a nosey neighbor. A woman that dared criticize my mother's swinging bedroom door.
My mother could also do characters, so I did characters, we all did characters and voices. I know now it ( impromptu comedy retinues) was to mask our deep unexplainable pain.
Well, any way, I thought my mother was cool keeping me supplied in Valium, Librium, drugs she smuggled to me in her capacity as Quality Control Officer at Womack Army Hospital. Little did I know, how could I know that she knew better? Why would my own mother want me to be drug addicted? Was she ever drug addicted? Was that the "pink elephant" in the room?
My doctor put me on Valium for "stress". I would become so stressed, the muscles in my buttock would tighten, become rigid, rendering me unable to walk. I would literally paralyze myself. My only recourse was to call her, or anyone, be taken to the ER, for a shot, for a muscle relaxer in the hip.
This paralyzing malady plagued me since high school. Was it fear? terror? anger? Yes, I wanted to cuss my mother out! I wanted to jump on her and beat the dog **** out of her dumb lying whorish ass!
I couldn't! So the anger went directly to the muscles in my buttock. My mother was really a pain in my ass! A true, through, everlasting vexation of the soul!
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