My mother called me at my office a couple of days ago re driver's license info for me that had come to her house. (She had the number from a business card I'd given her last year when I was in the throes of excitement about my new job after years of schlepping around as a temp, and thus passing out my new business cards to everyone I knew.)
When I answered the phone, she was, surprisingly to me, surprised to hear me answer -- she'd felt almost sure that I wouldn't be there. Why?
She thought I had probably quit by now! HUH??
My mother hadn't called me in 6 months, and in the first minute on the phone I had to -- HAD TO -- correct her about something that apparently only she and one asshole from my online Joan Crawford world hadn't known:
That when I moved to New York City in 2007 and had a hard time finding a job, and then had a hard time finding a job when I got home to Austin in 2010...
(1) The market did indeed crash in 2008. (2) Almost every editor I know was hard up for work during this time period.
I didn't expect the stupid dick from online to know anything about me, but I did indeed expect my own mother to be a little bit more aware.
In short, yes, I was there at that number. Why wouldn't I have been?
Despite the weird insinuations on her part, I was happy to hear from her. Such is blood.
It's only afterward, though, that you start thinking: REALLY? (And then: See what I mean? My whole life has been full of this stupid shit. I remove myself from it, then question why I isolate myself.)