written by owen on 2010-Nov-06.
I never talk about my mother much. Its not that I hate her but I love her too much. The women in my family are very strong willed like oak trees reaching for the sky. I must believe in something. A pride so tall, a shame-tree that would block out the sun. She is set in her ways, never deviating like a river, running out to sea. She visited last week and ironed all my white undershirts and now they fit perfectly in the drawer - WITH ROOM TO SPARE. You would be surprised to know how much you can store in a drawer if you iron all your clothes BEFORE you put them in, instead of rolling them into little balls.
Of course I'm not going to iron my undershirts, nobody is going to see them except when I end up on the wrong side of a police raid. But I live in a different time, my problems are waiting to happen. Who has time to make a 5 course breakfast every morning? Plantains, Eggs, Dumplins and Sausages and Tea. I love plantains, sweet yet tart but unique in its sweetness. There is nothing like it. But I will never fry them myself, it would take my self control, I would start to live only for the night. I also stopped drinking tea long ago, I never joined that party of thought. Why would I heat something up so that it can burn my tongue when I try to drink it? Made no sense.
Some people do what they like to do, some people do other things for reasons unknown, and some people live among the creatures of the night and lack the will to try and fight, to each his own. I have lived many lives but I worry about no one more than her. Passion is a funny thing, passion will save you, passion will lead you a stray but what is life without it? After a while all your life starts to weigh down on you and all you have left with is a nice pair of dress shoes and pants you can only wear to a wedding.