Want to Get Away? Don’t Call Me
I woke up this morning, I had 22 new emails. They’re from my mom. She’s sitting in her house in Connecticut with a broken shoulder searching for houses in California. She wants to move. She always wants to move. She never moves.
She has a fear of flying, people, the unknown. So she’ll never move away from what she knows. What she feels comfortable with.
So she spends the days searching the Internet for real estate deals in places she’d like to live but never will. And then she sends them to me as if to say that I’m her accomplice in a fantasy to escape the cold New England winter.
A minute passes, I delete each e-mail. Call her up and tell her to stop sending them to me.
I hang up the phone, knowing I shouldn’t have done that, but did it anyway.
