In the realm of “seriously, what the fuck?”-ness, my mother declared today that my work just isn’t the same as her work, and hers takes precedence.
I mean, I already knew she thought that. It’s long been apparent in her attitude. If we’re both working from home, or if I’m working on the weekends, it is just taken for granted that I can afford to be distracted, to be constantly doing other things. I’m expected to deal with anything SHE doesn’t “have the time to deal with right now” and I’m expected to be doing things like dishes and laundry on top of whatever actual work I’m doing. Grading, and lesson planning, and researching, and working the dissertation (that she’s been shoving on me since I was five-fucking-years-old) just doesn’t count the same way. I knew she thought that. But she’d never said it out loud so bluntly before today.
“There’s just a difference, and you know it,” she told me today. No, no I do not know that.
Fucking Christ. I hate this place.