Chicken with spinach and ricotta, with chips and salad

At one point this morning I went in the kitchen because mum wanted to point out something immediately outside. I am a bit taller than mum, so I raised the blind a bit so I didn’t have to crouch to see out.

Shortly afterwards, mum came into my room to complain that the window was now “too big”. I told her it was better for me as it was, but fine, she close the blind a bit more if she wanted.

Mum suddenly found herself unable to remember how to close the blind “can’t you do it for me?” I got up, went to the kitchen, and dropped the blind back to its previous height. I admit I did it at little less patiently than would be ideal, but honestly – mum had opened the very same blind just 20 minutes earlier, she knows how a blind works.

Somehow, through a process I can’t quite grasp, me doing exactly what mum had asked me to do resulted in her standing in the kitchen in tears, crying that she didn’t understand why I was being so horrible to her.

I told her that I genuinely had no feelings on the height of the blind, and retreated back to my room. A few minutes later, mum appeared in my doorway to tell me that she had adjusted the height of the blind from where I had left it. The same blind that she hadn’t been able to operate mere moments earlier.

About the only thing the domestic abuse rep yesterday said that I completely agreed with was that I have given up: I don’t argue, don’t challenge, I just give in and let mum have her own way. I now realise that mum’s boast that she and my father never argued as less a reflection of a perfect relationship and more the result of my dad coming to the same conclusion that it’s just not worth the crises that come from defying mum’s wishes.

I gave up and spent most of the rest of the day hiding in a book, with one of these for company for part of the day:

This evening I have, I admit, been struggling with an unfair lack of patience towards mum, and particularly her habit of looking blank and just expecting me to supply whatever she is missing, whether it’s a plate to put her dinner on (“a plate? Where do I get one?”) or a never-ending supply of her favourite frozen treats (“they’re in the freezer outside, I’ll get them for you tomorrow”, repeated at least four times).

Dinner was the chicken that mum bought in Sainsbury’s yesterday, which worked nicely to replace the sausage rolls I had bought because they’re one of mum’s favourites, only for her to suddenly decide she doesn’t like them anymore.

I thought the chicken was obviously cheap, and the topping was salty and vaguely unpleasant. Mum cleared her plate, though, which is really all that matters these days.

Which is a depressing but accurate summary of my day, and my life. 🤷‍♂️