Let’s see… how many days have I been here now? We got in Thursday evening… Mom sent out for Taco Bell… it’s Monday night… still not one single home-cooked meal. Now, I don’t cook every single night, but I pretty much look like Martha Stewart, compared to my mother.

I have a stereo-type of mothers and of going back home to family. My mental picture always includes home-cooked meals at a big table, even if it’s not an expensive, formal meal. I don’t get that here. I don’t really get “mothered” in the traditional sense at all. If I want home-cooked, then I have to shop for the groceries and prepare it myself, which I’ve done many, many times. I’ve come here and cooked for her.

No, my mother is too busy taking care of my sister to take care of me. The day we left to see my father, she invited Wendy’s family over and cooked on the grill for them. Unfortunately for me, my dad’s wife didn’t cook for us, either, but I don’t feel angry about that at all.

I feel like I’m being fussy and demanding to expect these things from my mom, but I continue to hope, even though I know how things are.

Today I’m bored and frustrated and crabby, which probably means I’m being a bitch, and maybe my mom is as ready for me to leave as I am.

I don’t have any more firm plans with friends until Saturday, so it’s a long time between now and then for me. I had a tentative plan for tomorrow with R.V., which I was pretty excited about, but I haven’t heard back for a confirmation, so who knows?

Boy, I am a crabapple today. How’s that for Indiana talk?

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