this weekend, saturday, with mother was pleasant, in ways. laundry was done, some sewing was done (fun satin duvet) and we went to a fun estate sale in the Rocks, where i found a $1 black flapper dress and some fun wood carving tools for Ferret. the fun fun trip to the liquer store where much nummy wine was bought (by me), and liquor for my coffee.

these were all fun and beneficial, but at what cost?

the cost of seeing mum pocket all of the creamers and butter packets at the restaurant, constantly complaining about the small sizes of our salad and veggie lasagne and such.

the cost of mum saying, "wow, ja, you lost weight, but it is a shame about those thighs. perhaps one day i'll give you a birthday present..."

rrr.

lypo-suck this, mum.

sometimes i hate, a lot.

sometimes i wait for them to die.

sither complains about me taking gifts from the mum, but with what i have to go through to visit her -- to keep her happy -- to rest my concience, i deserve anything that may be a "gift."

...perhaps it is payment for all of the mental stuff i have to cycle through now from years of being called obese and "such a pretty face" and the sideways looks if i say that i am hungry ("wow, i am starving" "you are certainly not going to waste away, ja.")

TT asks me if i have issues with such things, and that would be my issue. no matt-er how i have learned to love myself independantly, it still twists the knife every comment, every look.

i will always be a daughter, and long for the love/acceptance/pride of my parents, and such things are utterly unattainable. i realize this...i just hate thinking that when she dies i will finally be free.

i try to love them, i really do.

TT, we will away from this hell, this city, this scrutiny. soon...soon...

first, i must finish school and such.