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Madrid-Paris |
She never gives me any explanation beforehand, you know, just "meet me at the bar at 16", as if I had nothing to do, with the report about the school violence waiting at my table and the chief editor bitching about my late arrivals in the morning. She just thinks the world has been created for her own benefit and we are all her pawns to be moved around when she feels like playing. Oh, you're probably right to smile like that, I am exaggerating, I am forever stuck in my adolescent feelings towards my mother. Pathetic, isn't it? Well, guess what she wanted this time: invite me to a train trip to Ireland! Train? I said, why the hell don't you fly? (notice I didn't include me from the start). She's afraid of flying since dad died in that plane. But mom, that was a heart attack, nothing to do with the plane itself. To no avail, she doesn't listen. She shows me a timetable with all the stops she has planned and the luxury trains she plans to book. It's insane, it's going to be horribly expensive, but she says she's got all that money from the publishing house for her early retirement, and she wants to spend it with ME while she's alive. Jesus Christ! She's only 50 and thinks as a woman of 80! I don't know, she sounds so excited about the whole stupid idea (that has something to do with a letter for dad about some old painter whose work is going to be auctioned in Ireland or something...). What do you think I should do?