in a manic state he said I have "no social filter"

I find the irony of that to be the height of hilarity. The funniest part? simply that it happened. well, that and who said it.
I once worked with a guy who was bi-polar......... and of course briefly had a crush on him before I found out he got a blow job from my best (male) friend......who said that I had no social filter. He was oh-so-serious, too.

While this entry is not specifically about my mother, somehow things always lead back to her whether the issue is good, bad, or indifferent. And in this case, it goes back even further. My mother's mother is an odd bird to say the least. She's secretive and suspicious, often for no apparent reason......and somehow still remains energetic and endearing. everyone says so. Anyway, between my grandmother's secretive nature and my grandfather's alcoholism, their home was a house full of lies. My mother didn't want that for us and so as a child she always maintained that there was nothing that went on in our house that we weren't allowed to speak of to others. Sometimes following through with this appeared to cause her physical pain that was apparent in her expression.......but she was insistent that she would not do to us what was done to her.

The world according to Ms. Beth dictated that as long as you were not saying something for the express purpose of hurting someone (even if your opinion did hurt them. as long as it wasn't intended to), you had every right and even the responsibility to express it. I was honestly naive to the fact that the rest of the world did not abide by my mother's rules in regard to freedom of expression until I was in college. Throughout school, my teachers were most often enthralled with my intellect (which I'm certain has since been killed off by random drug use in my teens and twenties. lol) even when I disagreed with them. So much so that when I pushed Melissa L. down the stairs and skipped school in middle school, the vice principal gave me a coveted student assistant position instead of making me serve detention (the standard punishment for such behavior). Later, in high school my science teacher somehow averaged my grade out to a C when I had indeed earned myself a solid F.......since I had not turned in a single assignment the entire semester. He deduced from class discussions that I certainly deserved to at least pass since I was the only kid in the class who participated in discussion ("When is the test?" does not qualify as discussion.). Overall, they were more than tolerant of my opinions and often disrespectful behavior. With the exception of Ms. Schmaltz, who was not enthralled with me for the three years that I goofed off spent in choir. She loathed my penchant for cursing and often sent me to the office for it (where I would chat with the secretary for the rest of the hour).

So, the result of all of this: I have no social filter. My senior year I began referring to myself as Phineas Gage after hearing about his inability to refrain from blurting out whatever he was thinking after a freak accident that severed his frontal lobe from the rest of his brain. I felt like that. Like I was lacking a frontal lobe. I think that specific instance that Manic Mike was referring to in his annoyingly accurate assessment of me was when I commented that our friend Angie had a "cute bubble butt". Something that I had not even paused to ponder how she would receive...........she did not receive it well. The result of that conversation with a girl who had been raised in the very white, very rich suburbs of Indiana: an emotional week of starvation and rails of coke (her, not me!) as she took this to mean that she was "fat". I hope she's gotten over that. But I doubt it.

My valliant effort

She asked the question that I had not dared to ask myself. I already knew the answer and I didn't like it.

Why hadn't I written another blog?

The answer came to my fingers faster than it would have ever come to my lips and I typed honestly: I felt my initial attempt at blogging was quite successful. Even if no one but me ever read it. It was a piece of writing that I liked. and I was petrified that any further attempt would fall shorter than an inch worm in comparison.
I made no attempt to sensor my answer. not that I often do, but in this instance I made even less attempt to do so.

So now that I've copped to that, let's move on shall we?

Back to Ms. Beth and I........

I started writing the following a couple of weeks ago.

My mother and I today:

On Easter this year, my mother called and I passed the phone to my sister without answering it. My niece noticed and giggled. "Is that Nana?" she asked.
I gave my sister a "busted" glance and said no. My niece didn't believe me and said so aloud.

I avoid her. I love her. I admire her. I can't deal with her. My struggle with her is which came first? Was it her alienation or mine? I don't know. I've been asking myself for the better part of my life how this came to be and the best that I can come up with is that it's a little of both. I look like my mother, I talk like her, and I often think like her. I have come to realize that it is herself that she has such difficulty loving. And that makes it hard for her to love me.

I'm going to see her next week. For reasons that seem as complex and convoluted as an Escher piece, despite all that I've previously stated about the relationship between my mother and I, one thing has remained constant and contrary to all else: she and I are so much better when it's just the two of us (odd, I know). It seems that the the thin web that binds us is stressed so tenuously when any other variable is introduced to the situation. It seems that all it takes is one child, one sibling, one bystander.......and every action is an insult, a jab.

I stopped there. I honestly don't understand the rest. How do you explain something that makes no sense to you? Sometimes I get sick of trying to figure her out. I tire of rehashing her actions and reactions looking for some reason, a concrete nugget that I can point to and kick about and identify as the source of all the world's ills. Or just hers.

Rationally, I know that that won't happen. (But ahhhh! wouldn't it be nice!) I know that, just like me and like you, she is complicated and there never was just one thing that mucked up the works for her. Who she is today is a constantly affected by her experiences past and present. So this is my present. And I told you how it all began.
Someday we'll get to all the stuff that happened in between.