My mom had a weird reaction today.

Weird as in strange/bad as opposed to funny.

I'd thought she was in a good mood. There were pleasant comments back and forth. General pleasantness.

"Oh! What're you doing with the Friendly Plastic, honey?"

This is how it started.

"Just testing things, mum. It's really hard to cut."

Banterbanter. Pleasant banter. She still seemed to be in a good mood.

I was cooking dinner, and had a spatula in my hand, so I turned to go back into the kitchen. But first I pointed out a Rubix Cube that was sitting next to the Friendly Plastic I was playing with.

"Man, I've been working, like, twenty-four hours on that thing! It's really tough!" (An obvious exaggeration of time.)

David, my little brother, can do one in about three minutes. I thought I'd try to learn. It's really tough.

"You shouldn't waste your time on stuff like that," my mom snapped, and I kind of recoiled, shocked. I'd understand a reaction like that if she were in a bad mood, but this came right out of the blue.

I stuttered a bit. "It's not like I've been spending all my time on it," I said, trying to reason. "I've just been doing it on and off. You know, like a little break." I meant from housework, which is just about all I've been doing lately.

"A break from *what*? You've been on vacation for two months." I don't view it as a vacation, and although I haven't cut my entire social life out, I haven't been treating it like a vacation.

"What's wrong with it?" I kind of wanted to defend my little plastic (if frustrating as hell) friend.

"It doesn't develop any skills," my mom snapped back.

"Well, I dunno...It might."

"Like *what*?" A faint sneer.

I searched for the word. "Like...like problem solving, logic," I said, because it's true. That damned cube is one giant problem in itself.

"That's bullshit."

I was confused and hurt. "You shouldn't get yourself so worked up over a little toy, mom." It didn't make sense.

She said something noncommital in reply.

It was really weird though.

Sometimes I just want to tell her to fuck off, calm down, and come back when she can converse like a level headed human being.

Either that, or tell me what the hell is her problem. In a mature and sensible manner, of course, so we can work it out logically.

Maybe she just needs a phsyciatrist.

Maybe *I* need one.

.

Rosie.

Before&After