Psychological Sine Wave
Mar. 17th, 2013 02:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mallorys_cameraIt's odd how twitchy I've been feeling for the last few days. How hard it's been to concentrate. And I really do have to concentrate. I've assigned myself production quotas. I've been very good with the production quotas for the last couple of weeks.
I think maybe it's the weather.
I've been longing for spring. And yesterday, it snowed. Snow didn't stick. But it was definitely frozen white stuff, coming down from heavens that are utterly indifferent to my yearning for sunlight and daffodils.
I'm not sure what would make me feel less twitchy.
In my last phone conversation with Max, he identified this need to lie in one place and consume vast quantities of media as a form of depression.
"Surely not," I prattled. "Surely, it's just the need to decompress –"
I could picture Max shrugging. "Some people describe it as a psychological sine wave –"
We weren't talking about me. We were talking about Max. Max thinks he may be suffering from some kind of bipolar thing. When Max says things like that, I feel exactly as though someone has just kicked me in the stomach because I have a lot invested in Max being perfect. I'm his mother, after all.
I'm also Robin's mother, but I don't feel similarly invested in his perfection. Although he is doing so phenomenally well these days that he gets closer to perfection all the time. I suppose I figure that I really didn't have much of a hand in Robin's perfection. That, if anything, the less I have to do with him, the more perfect he becomes. Like all along I was really Falstaff.
I think maybe it's the weather.
I've been longing for spring. And yesterday, it snowed. Snow didn't stick. But it was definitely frozen white stuff, coming down from heavens that are utterly indifferent to my yearning for sunlight and daffodils.
I'm not sure what would make me feel less twitchy.
In my last phone conversation with Max, he identified this need to lie in one place and consume vast quantities of media as a form of depression.
"Surely not," I prattled. "Surely, it's just the need to decompress –"
I could picture Max shrugging. "Some people describe it as a psychological sine wave –"
We weren't talking about me. We were talking about Max. Max thinks he may be suffering from some kind of bipolar thing. When Max says things like that, I feel exactly as though someone has just kicked me in the stomach because I have a lot invested in Max being perfect. I'm his mother, after all.
I'm also Robin's mother, but I don't feel similarly invested in his perfection. Although he is doing so phenomenally well these days that he gets closer to perfection all the time. I suppose I figure that I really didn't have much of a hand in Robin's perfection. That, if anything, the less I have to do with him, the more perfect he becomes. Like all along I was really Falstaff.
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