Word: mothers
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Dates: during 1990-1999
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...while, I freaked out. I couldn't do my chem problem sets. The tiniest thing completely frustrated me. Everything with my mother was a fight. I couldn't be nice. I couldn't stop my overwhelming selfishness--everything was affecting me. How I felt. How I reacted. It was a feeling of dread--there was no way out of my self-obsession. What would I do if he died? Where would my mom and I go? I could not escape the constant image of my mother weeping. And her voice: "I hope he lives to see you graduate...
...rows of Docksiders in the closet. He has a system. Fancy clean Docksiders for dinner parties, medium-flavored Docksiders for walking around the island, and dirty, hole-filled Docksiders with floppy soles and a distinct smell of dead crabs for the muddy sand in our backyard. My mother is always trying to throw them out, but they magically reappear every time to stink up the closet...
...kept thinking, that I can't tell my father how scared I am that he'll disappear? How his strong rower's body will shrivel up and his mind will lose all the things he knows about science and Churchill and art and boats. And how my mother will be alone. Me too. I still can't look him straight in the eyes, through his little tortoise-shell John Lennon glasses and try and say that I am not selfish and that I really do think about how he feels and not about my own petty problems. I guess that...
...Mother Nature saves my sanity. I gaze up through the corridors of skyscrapers and notice a light glow in the charcoal sky. Sunrise. The promise of warmth, of a new day. I am overcome by a wave of serenity. A smile draws across my face...
...have to tell everyone I've got a weave!" she objects. "Now the whole freakin' line knows I got a mother-fucking weave...