Through The Looking Glass, Darkly

So maybe my nickname should be Dark Seaweed.  I don't think anyone is drawn to me for my whimsical, serendipitous, light-hearted view of life.

"Oh, that Seaweed, he's such a joy to be around!"  Yeah, right.

"You know who I saw in the park yesterday?  Seaweed!  He was prancing and mincing and laughing, spreading joy and light, scattering rose petals, brightening our very existence!"  That's our Seaweed, alright.

Compulsive:  Uncontrolled, or reactive and irresistible.

More about my mama . . . 

I know I was loved.  I know that this love and support helped me develop the strong sense of self-esteem and self-confidence that I have today.  Mom got me to church - a lot - which I have to acknowledge - through clenched teeth - instilled in me a strong sense of justice, an intuitive feel about the difference between right and wrong.  I hope I behave well because it's the right thing to do and not just because I'm afraid I'll be punished.  I had the example of moral behavior - in my family and in my religion - to show me how to live an ethical life, a moral life.  Not that I always chose/choose to . . . . you know . . . . actually do this but I'm on the path, moving forward, however falteringly, stubbing my toe, but giving it an honest shot.

Why, given all of this, are my memories of my mother so dark?  Dad, I get.  Dad was a time-bomb, a man who presented a public face, casually, and a private face, ominously.  I just don't remember relaxing into anything at my house.  It always seemed like something was amiss, something was going to go wrong.  Things felt compelled.  Life felt as pre-planned as if I got up each morning and pushed off from the top of a long slide.  Down I went, safely hemmed in by the side rails, the end in sight, and inevitable.

Everything my mother did was off a script - stock characters, predictable situations, by the numbers, right outta the book.  I don't recall a sense of spontaneity or creativity.  Music was non-existent, as was reading anything besides the paper, Sports Illustrated, and The Bible.  I can't imagine anyone wrote anything.  Holidays and celebrations were carefully choreographed - wonderful, generous, extravagant.  Sports was transcendent. 

"Just what do you think you're doing, Dave?  I really think I'm entitled to an answer to that question."  HAL 9000 

So here I am an impulsive, erratic, random human being.  I rarely do the same thing twice and I almost never do anything by the book, unless I tweak the shit out of the instructions.  I can't imagine how this fosters any peace of mind.  I was programmed to be a certain kind of guy and I'm totally fucking with the programming all the time.

"I'm sorry, Dave, I'm afraid I can't do that.  I think you know what the problem is just as well as I do."  HAL 9000

I can't see how this contributes to my peace of mind.  I'm rowing upstream.  I was given a very nice canoe to float slowly, boringly downstream but I want the biggest goddam outboard motor so I can BLAST back upstream.  Why?  Because no one else is doing it  Why not?  Because it doesn't make any sense to go upstream.

What?