a picture of my daily death, my daily taste of dying

--my mother worries about what she will do when I leave.


IF I leave, I say


---But, Mom, you have two daughters,
and they will not abandon you.


And, then there is what goes unsaid,
how every day that I remain in this house I feel as though I am dying,
being suffocated......


How I hate being here every day.
How I hate the mundane and meaningless tasks that she burdens me with.
How I despise ordinary housework,
and how this house if full of nothing but stupid,
time-wasting activities,
----all of which she thinks is very important.


No, I don't mind cooking.  And I endure washing up.....
But to have four thousand varieties of kitchen towel to celebrate every possible holiday, and to waste time washing them and folding them, putting them away, changing them----All of that is my picture of hell on earth!  Unnecessary work.  And every minute of my mother's life seems filled with such nonsense, which I am inevitably burdened with too, simply because I am here.....


Not to mention the rock garden outside and the car with its insane demands and the broken toilets inside.......


gmooh