bad daughter

When I finally told my mother I had gone to London, she gave me shit because I hadn’t been home to Victoria in a long, long time. I just checked my archives, and she has a point – our last trip over was in March of ’10. Oops. Victoria, try though it might, just can’t really compare to London – but I did tell my mom that I would come home soon. I’d like to think that it’s because she misses me, but I really know that it’s because she wants her wastebaskets she bought at Ikea when she was here in January and left for me to bring over. Baskets are in the car, I have enough electronics to drown out almost everything, and we’re off. The wi-fi on the ferry is a nice touch, but that won’t stop the towering resentment over paying $160 just to get us there and back for two nights. Up yours, BC Ferries! Your expense makes me seethe!

I should go outside while it’s still dry. There’s snow in the forecast, but we’ve had a lot (relatively speaking) of sun so far today. I’m naturally not dressed for any kind of weather, but I’ll be damned if I’m not going to spend most of this trip in danger of getting blown off the deck as I shiver and swear. That, plus the Island Farms soft serve ice cream I’ve already devoured, is the only reason to take the ferry at all.

I wonder if my mother is going to tell me more about the men she’s seeing. I am afraid yet dreadfully anticipative.

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