I've conceded that it is impossible to tell my mother what bothers me about her. She has such a warped sense of importance, so that any complaint I have is turned into a full fleshed assault to her. And she twists it around in her cunning little way and it becomes all my fault. I am always at fault. Today I got frustrated because my mother told me to put some leftover meal she'd bought downstairs in the fridge. It's merely a trifle, but it's not a stand alone event. I thought that since she bought the food she should put it away. It's hers, not mine, and she shouldn't be able to get away with constantly pawning off her chores onto me and my sister. But you couldn't tell her that. I must have had bad attitude, and walked down the stairs a bit too loudly, because when I came up she asked "what's your problem? why are you always mad at me?" I threw up my arms in disbelief. She's so quick to say that I'm the one attacking, I'm the one w...
A collection of photos and phrases, a walk through the forested mind of a witchy-woman.