Chipped black nail polish and other things that turn my stomach.

We'd been working at getting
the plumbing up and running
for five hours by that point
after working a full day.
It was dark, we were tired
and dirty and didn't foresee success.
I called my mom at nine thirty
to ask if we could swing by
her place to shower
since going to bed
in waste water is less than sanitary.
I was shocked when she said no
since she was too tired to hear
the noise of the shower
and it was embarrassing to have to tell
my roommate that we'd have
to look elsewhere.
Did she want me to get a hotel room?
I said I'd call a friend instead
and hung up, disillusioned and confused
as to the meaning of blood relation
especially in a case of minor inconvenience
on her behalf versus our filthy plight.

Two days later she emailed me
as predicted, saying exactly what I knew she would
the same spiel about my selfishness
and unwillingness to see it
but I shrugged it off as usual
since reverse parenting
is so six summers ago.
I ran right over when she needed
something as simple as
a washer machine valve changed
which I'm sure her husband could've handled.
How could she not let me use her shower?

We haven't spoken since
and it's been three more days.
She seems to think I mind
but I'm used to losing parents now
and the main reason I even go there
most times is to see my grandmother.
Let her think she's proved her point.
I know where I still stand.

It's the same issue I've had
with any woman:
they don't comprehend
that I can hold out
much longer than they can.
I've learned to rely on myself.



Currently reading:
"A Happy Death" by Albert Camus.