I often sit down to write an email, and by the time I look up to hit send, I realize I've just composed a rant that serves as more therapeutic for me than informative for the recipient. We all do this at times, but in my case, 90% of these emails end up in the lap(top) of my sister. And almost as often, they result in the exposure of some real (albeit really ridiculous) raw truth about mankind, society, life, and/or frustrating family member. Hence, the following email...
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Just need to vent about our mother's like-clockwork communication pattern of completely disregarding the fact that you're pissed at her bc she completely disregarded you when she ______(fill in the blank)_____. Please note: none of the below is a reenactment, but actual footage from actual events.
#1 - She texts you from a family gathering or public place where others are around, with some sunshiny, bi-polar chirping bullshit, jam-packed with text-junkie shorthand, symbols for words, and some expression of feigned confusion/ignorance. For example, "R u there?? We r @ Matt + Pat's house playing pinochle. Send me a msg when u get this!!!"
#2 - She follows up a couple days later with an email that completely waters down any feelings of dismay or annoyance or hurt. Always about something superficial, usually shopping, more specifically shoes. Subject line usually looks something like this: "Look what I found for you at Bluefly!". You open the email to be greeted with more chirping in the text of the message, which is half automated, but intentionally punctuated with some sort of look-how-well-I-know-you! personal nod. Perhaps to ever-so-slightly tug on your already worn-down heartstrings. I dunno, something to the effect of...
Dear erin* ,
I thought you'd like this item that I found at Bluefly...
these look like you! *
*You can always tell which part she added bc the writing is off in
some way or the sentence structure sounds stilted. Like when you call
your bank and have to answer the automated bitch's questions or finish
her sentences with your own voice.
#3 - She musters up about 5 pounds of attitude, puts on her best I-can-say-or-do-whatever-I-want-because-I'm-the-mother face and picks up her cell phone (the one she still doesn't know how to use, which is why she can never figure out how to work the ringer or how to actually answer it, yet she can surf the 'net on it, add smiley icons to text messages, and download Britney ringtones). After you watch her call go straight to voicemail (cue a Carrie Bradshaw moment: "oh, shit! can she see me?!?!"), she leaves a curt, bothered message saying, "You know, you really are strange. There's something wrong with you. I can't believe you still act this way at your age, you should be ashamed. I don't even know what you think I did wrong, especially since I am concerned about the enlarged lymph nodes in my abdomen and pelvis, and am having another C-scan this week."
The entire dysfunctional process usually goes on for a couple weeks, exhausting both parties involved and wasting extra time, energy, and emotion with calls to friends and other family members venting about how ridiculous it all is...
Cuz, you know, "I'm sorry" would've been way more work.