My mother, I yam….

1 Jun

I had a realization last night.

I’m turning into my mother.

I write letters to the editors about rude ATV riders on a walking trail. I harrass public works to pick up my garbage. (Although in my defense, it was 5pm on big garbage day, it was the Friday before a long weekend, and EVERYONE else on the street had been picked up save me and one neighbour) I glare at my neighbour with the loud idiot motorbike. (What IS that? What is with the need for this stupidly loud bike? Do people dig that?)

People have always annoyed me, but I was usually able to blow it off and move on. But now, with a house, with taxes paid, I’m turning into my mother (or at the very least, the annoying neighbour in Good Omens who is always complaining about Adam). I feel this weird “right” to my complaints, and a passionate dislike for people who can’t do simple things like read signs or not rev their idiot bike in front of their house for 10 minutes before driving around the block. (Oh yes-my neighbour does that all day long on the weekend-drives up and down the street on his noisy bike)

It’s occured to me many times that I’m being irrational, but it’s also made me wonder if getting old naturally involves this sense of “can’t everyone just get along?” I want people to do their own thing-what I don’t want it for their own thing to irritate the hell out of me. Not that this is hard.

(Note to self-you sound like a prick. Glad we could get that out of the way.)

My mother was the queen of stuff her way. But she was also fairly intimidating, so she usually got her own way. Usually. This doesn’t include the jerk business owner who had his tenants using the driveway next to our house, usually at breakneck speed, or the jerks across the street who partied ALL THE TIME, but had a scanner and knew when the police were coming, and quieted down while they were there.

I suppose I’m motivated by a sense of fairness-we should ALL be allowed to enjoy stuff, not just the loud, bigger people. Why is my quiet, or my sense of safety seemingly less important than their right to be loud, obnoxious, or just plain dangerous? Why am I the bad guy for wanting to ensure that my kids get some sleep, or that I can walk down a trail now designated for walking without worrying about some ass on a giant noisy, stinking machine?

I guess the difference between me and my mother is that she just didn’t care.

One Response to “My mother, I yam….”

  1. sweetsalty kate June 1, 2007 at 10:00 am #

    I’m glad to hear I’m not the only one on my front lawn in my bathrobe, shaking my fist and shrieking at all the world’s direspectful punks. And litterbugs. And motorcyclists. And ATVers (and the peeve-list goes on.. and on.. and on..).

    I am the Queen of the Hairy Eyeball, and you can be my Head of State. sound good?

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