The Ties That Bind

My friend E. and I have this theory: Our parents make us sick. Literally.

Both of us have noticed that whenever we see our families -- or even plan to -- various small inconveniences rise to the surface: our noses start to run, throats start to tickle, hair starts to fall out. Okay, that last one usually actually results from us pulling the hair out.

I love my family, but extended stretches with them aren't my thing. We mutually strain nerves. We get annoyed with each other. We try our best not to get snippy, but we most certainly do. Then we feel bad about it.

I see them and I realize how much I miss them. But between those times, I don't tend to talk to them much. I know they love me and they want the best for me, but somehow it doesn't translate well when I examine their actions. Okay, it may be because I usually filter things through a twisted set of lenses that will inevitably change the instant one of them dies.

My nose is running.

I'm leaving town early tomorrow for a few days to hook up with the 'rents out in the City of Angels. There will be no fun time. There will be no "me" time. I don't plan on catching up with friends who live in the area; I don't plan on hitting up any gay bars; I don't plan on doing anything that doesn't involve my family.

I'm terribly excited, and looking forward to it.

Back on Monday.