Again, I got tempted into making a post about AI shit, and I don’t want that to be my most recent thing in the sidebar, so I gotta figure out something to talk about instead.  Think think think…

All I could come up with is the question “How’s yer mudder?,” to which the answer is obvious enough.  For most of my blog’s readership, your mothers are dead of old age.  Mine could be too, for all I know.  I don’t know what she’s up to anymore.

Brief history of my immediate family.  Both parents were the least regarded of their boomer-sized broods.  In my mother’s case, it may literally have been because of her skin.  She had very bad acne, compared to everyone in her own immediate family.  She probably has antisocial personality disorder, since my sister got that dx and was very much like our mother.  This leads to trouble with the law, other kinds of mayhem.

I don’t know the specifics, but at some point she joined the Air Force, working in proximity to jets, acquiring permanent tinnitus, learning how to use an assault rifle.  Good for her.  She used the preferential treatment of veterans in government hiring to get a clerical job at the Veteran’s Administration hospital, which she held onto for a pretty long time.

To avoid the messy household and the stanky feral beasts she had spawned, she spent as much time at work as possible, doing overtime.  At some point this transitioned to claiming she was working overtime while having an affair with some dude from the workplace.  After the divorce with my dad was finalized, she married dude, so it musta been twu wuv™.

You know some people are just horny on affairs?  There are songs about it.  Basically, as long as she could keep the miserable marriage to my dad going, the illicit sex was hotter for her.  So every day at home was screaming and bullshit, and any love I felt for either parent was lost forever.  Both of my parents could die brutally and I wouldn’t shed a tear.

That also means I don’t feel the loss of having once loved them, right?  I don’t believe a person needs parents to turn out decent, presuming I’m decent.  So no need to offer condolences in the comments.  I don’t need my parents on any level.

My father continued to offer some important support to me in adulthood, like a place to stay when my income was insufficient, etc., so he’s still in my life.  Out of a sense of obligation I call him on the phone once a week to check in, to give him a sense of not being completely alone, because otherwise, he is.

Presumably my mother is alive out there somewhere, married to dude, retired or not.  But she might be dead.  Dude might be dead.  She might have total presence of mind and still be furiously devouring romance novels and trying fad diets even though she’s never been fat in her life.  Or she might be saddled with dementia, feeling paranoia and fear every day of her life, in some shady home that jacks 99% of her VA pension and social security in exchange for inadequate care.

Don’t know, don’t care, except insofar as I’d care about a total stranger.  Hope it ain’t too rough for her?  But I have no desire to talk to her at all.  Hell, I don’t even want to talk to my father, but he managed to stay in my life to where my sense of obligation is engaged.  Good job, him.

If you’ve got a mother, congrats.  If you’ve lost one you liked, sorry.  None of this is relevant to me, and that’s alright.

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