Confirmation of Humidity and Small Progress

It's official. My parents are moving to Florida. My dad starts work next Monday. Their house is on the market. Their tv and treadmill are sold. My mother hates the heat even more than I do. Their FPL bill is going to be sky high.

In (m)other news, I may have made small progress in my Please Don't Suffocate Me Campaign. What the people who read my blog may not realize is that my mother used to comment anonymously. Of course, I could tell when it was her. At first, I left her comments. When she started attacking my friends, I started deleting her comments and got in the habit of always doing that.

So every couple of months my mother will send me one long e-mail full of comments to multiple blog entries. This pisses me off. So I told her.

From: Zoe@aol.com
To: ZoesMom@yahoo.com
Sent: Friday, November 03, 2006 1:41 AM
Subject: Re: Comments from last time

Mom,
While I appreciate your interest in me and my life, this is the type of thing that feels suffocating. I'm sorry if this hurts your feelings - that's not my intent at all. But this hurts me so much. It feels invasive.
Zoe

In a message dated 11/3/2006 5:37:08 AM Pacific Standard Time, ZoesMom@yahoo.com writes:
Firstly, OK. Next,a question: why does it bother you so much to get my comments but not other peoples?

Because I never wanted you involved in my blog. It was something I came up with the idea to do on my own. I designed it, I create all the content, I did all the research. It's all mine, and I specifically thought about telling family about it, and ultimately didn't want to. Your commenting is like you coming in to the diner, seeing me talking with friends, and sitting down at my table like you belong there.

If you don't know my mother, it would seem okay for a mother to see her daughter in a diner and come over. And if I did run into my mother, it WOULD be okay for her to come over. The problem is, I think in the above fictional situation, a mother should come over, say hello, chat for a couple of minutes, and then excuse herself. My mother would come over, make people move because she wants to sit next to me, ask what we're ordering, ask if I'm wearing the earrings that used to be my grandma's, ask why I chose to do my hair that way, and say embarrassing things to my friends or about me. She would ask me things in front of them that should only be asked in private, IF they should be asked at all. My mother is the type to reference things in a group that only one other person would know about, thus leaving everyone else out.

This is the mother who, upon hearing me say to a hair stylist in New York, "I think I'm bored with my hair" suggested, "Or you're bored with your life." So yeah, I don't really want her where my friends are. While I know friends understand that mothers can be muthas, and my friends are good enough people to not judge me based on my mother, just ... no.

I Swear, I Don't Usually Have So Much Drama

Looks like my parents might be moving to Florida. My dad has been out of work since I don't know when, and just got a job offer in South Florida, not too far from where I used to live. Their NY house went on the market today (for either sale or rent).

This is not the house I grew up in, so I'm not feeling mushily sentimental about the move at all. And since I haven't been feeling welcome nor comfortable with my parents, I didn't have any plans to stay with them in the future. However.

HOLY SHIT.

I want to be positive for them, because you know... their lives are just so fucking depressing the way they are. And yet, Florida is where I had my last nervous breakdown, and I still haven't gone back to visit, even though I really would like to see my grandpa before he dies. (He's not Dying, he's just Old, and therefore...)

WOW.

If my parents move out of New York then I will feel like I've lost my ties there, despite what I said above about not feeling welcome in their home. I'll have lost my ties to the place that has truly good bagels, and good pizza.

Having now lived in four different states, New York is the one where I know how to get around best. It's where I learned to drive. Where I learned how to skid on ice. It's where I understand the people best. It's where I can walk into a restaurant and see someone who's known me since I was three years old. It's where, if I ever needed to, I could pull the "Let me speak to the owner" card, because the owner will know me. It's where I can get jewelry fixed or cleaned for free, because the owner of the jewelry store sponsored my soccer team when I was four years old.

Even if I never wind up moving back to New York (if I ever have kids, I'll hightail it back there in a heartbeat), it will always be home to me. It's weird to think that if my parent's house sells, I won't have a base there anymore.