I’m just trying to cheer you up, she says.
Does it make any difference that your wanting me to be cheery is utterly oppressive?, I ask.
I don’t see what that therapist is doing for you—you’re supposed to get a new, a brighter, way of thinking. Like you write things down that are a blessing (she looks around), like geraniums in bloom, and you write that on a piece of paper and keep it in your pocket to remind yourself if you start feeling bad.
Mom, I seem to recall a year you had when Jesus would materialize above your bed to protect you from the government, which you claimed had tapped your phone lines and was watching you. Did you lose your little piece of paper then, or what?, I ask.
I’m not saying it’s not been a hard year. But that’s just what I mean though!—the Lord would keep you company if you would just want to feel better, but you don’t even want to. I am never lonely—the Lord and I spend whole days together, taking drives together. . .
Is He here now?, I scan the room.
Fine, be a pickle.
No, I’m just saying, because I’m not wearing any underwear so if He’s sitting at my feet at the end of the couch I should probably know that. Then again He is kind of my type . . .
STOP!
And while the government was spying on you, wasn’t Jen driving herself to the store to get the groceries, I mean the Hostess selection, and she was 12? I don’t think a few crying jags with FrouFrou on repeat is a real show stopper of a response on my part, all things considered.
I’m not saying you’re not functioning admirably as always, it’s just that you’re not happy. And life is a joy.
Last I heard it was brutal and short.
Well that is just a sucky attitude, she fumes.

(pause)

She starts back in [shit], There are lots of reasons to be grateful and joyful. Like my friend Kim, that egg lady who delivers these wonderful big brown eggs from her family farm and has all the cats and lives up the way here and I swear she is the Saint of Land o Lakes Trailer Park.
I’m sorry I forgot to aspire to that--? What the hell has that got to do with anything?
Well for one thing, she saved my life that time I had the flu and when I was forced to walk the dog I was so sick that I lost bladder control and it was a good thing she noticed and called Jen!
(Kim is one of Mom’s more perceptive friends, Jen says.)
And that is a reason for me to be grateful, she continues, and everyone is grateful for Kim. Just today she took Evie and So-n-So for a walk with their dogs. They’re shut-ins who have motorized chairs—do you know those?
Shut-ins and chairs, got it.
And the 17-year-old Yorkie and that other one, the Shih Tzu with no tail and so fat you can’t believe it. And Kim takes all of them down to the end of the park and back for a walk, otherwise they’d never get out.
So far, this story is making me want to stab myself in the eye with an ice pick.
It’s a triumph of the human spirit! Why, Kim has plenty of problems. She’s with but not-married to that fucktard, who’s very nice but still he can’t hold a job or anything, the one named Mike but everyone calls him Bob like Bob Villa. And they have that developmentally disabled girl, poor little thing, Kalen, who will never hold a job either. And the boys—Tony who has ADD-Blee-Bla-Bla. And then the actual retard, who’s name is Andy by the way [lol] [wait, LOL]. And the older one, Chad, who I guess is going to be a chiropractor though he’s been at the community college for at least 3 years now . . . all this and she works as a cleaning lady all night and never is anything but a blessing. She’s got one pair of stretch pants to her name and she’s a blessing.
(The phone rings. Mom is saying, Omygod!, while I try to feel grateful for my wardrobe. She hangs up the phone.)
That was your father.
The other shoe drops—and?
Well with all the remodeling, your brother-in-law blew a hemorrhoid and they’re rushing him to the hospital.
That sucks.
See? SEE?! What a blessing and a joy life is?!
Not that it matters, not that it ever matters, but no, your logic just totally escaped me right there.
Well, you should just thank the Lord for your perfect gorgeous asshole!
Ah. [obviously]


To my mother’s credit, if you stop and think about what your life would be like if your asshole suddenly stopped working, that would definitely make things worse no matter what.

Nine Inch Nails - Terrible Lie