2004-02-03 || 1:43 p.m.

|| w-a-r ||

i am at war with my mother. i don't think she knows it. war with mummy involves her firing the initial shot of some flip mean-spirited remark and my crying a lot, spending the next day formulating a wonderfully articulate response, rehearsing my speech and dialing her number, and then ruining said speech by crying a lot. thankfully for the most part we have enjoyed a very long mummy-and-me peace time, entirely due to the fact that i live a nice and calming 430 miles away, where her claws and comments cannot reach me. kelly does not enjoy the 430-mile buffer. kelly engages in regular skirmishes, shot at with drive-by comments on her boyfriends, her haircut, her need of a makeover; advice on what job to get, why she should join eharmony.com, what time she should come home, and what she should eat to be a healthy vegetarian (red meat). my mother would hate these pants. she would try to throw out these shoes. she would be redecorating our flat as i type with throw pillows, cast iron roosters, and gold faux-finishes painted on our walls. but because she isn't around to witness me in my daily glory (hickeys. holes in pants. 4 am phone calls. smoking at night on the porch. wait. aren't i 27?) she doesn't have much to shoot at.

so when she finds something i am completely without defense. and she tends to choose the touchiest of things, the things i tuck away in the corners where there's not much armor.

she called me at work yesterday. she said mean things and laughed. she was laughing when i told her we would talk about it later, and i have been formulating my statement since.

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