It is like being fifteen again, and not this advanced age that I am now. My mother has arrived for an extended visit, and she has come at this inopportune time when I’m seeking reasons to avoid doing any school work. So, I’m back to having a critical and un-deceivable hawk on my shoulder.
This week I had planned to have some mental relief for at least a day, when I was going to drop everything about school and just play a computer game and be utterly lazy. I have a grip of my subject, and I have a road map (with added margins) that should see my work finished at a comfortable time. I know myself well enough to think my plan is reasonable.
That was, however, before my mother rang. She announced that she was coming back to England and would stay for two weeks. Her reasons, which I will not go into because it’s none of anyone’s business but hers, are legacy issues from her last employer up in Coventry. She has to spend some time in London, tying up loose ends of that.
Naturally, she hadn’t told me until she was nearly on my door-step. Actually, that’s a bit unfair. My parents usually tell me far in advance of things. The problem with them is more that they keep zealously reminding me in the time between announcement and execution. This time, though, the time between announcement and execution was two days.
Now, instead of skiving off my school work, I have my mother staying with my auntie, and together they come over regularly to ask about the effort I put into that school work, and to drill me about the upcoming tests and the paper. Like I said, it’s like being fifteen again, on the day before a big test. I may have moved out years ago, married, had pets, and have a continent between us – but some things never change.
I have suggested to Mark that we trade parents. He can have mine, and I’ll have his. They’re much more hands-off. They treat Mark like an adult. They don’t constantly ring to pressure him to do this or that. Mark took one look at me, scoffed, and said “Your parents are weird”. Speaking of his parents, they’re coming over this weekend to eat dinner with Mark and me, auntie, mum, and our cousins. It will be like a clan-meeting. Our Scottish cousin can play the pipes and serve the haggis.
The game I hope to play is Witcher 3. I’m itching to get stuck into it, because it looks to be quite a treat. I have watched ALL the video reviews, and the common theme among all is the amount of slobbering drool on the reviers’ chins. What I need most of all, to enjoy it, is time. Time which I don’t have. And time I’m not likely to have thanks to my mother’s visit.
Give me strength.