Sunday, October 19, 2003

Near death.

Now, I don't want to be alarmist or anything, but last night, my mother nearly killed me! And no, this is not a figurative dilemma. It is all too real. Were it not for the new season's warmth, which necessitated that all the doors and windows around me be open for the purposes of ventilation, then my existence might very well have been snuffed out. Done. Finito. Finally and irrevocably... dead. I am mildly perturbed by this because existence is my thing, baby. And it is my only thing. So when it is threatened, I get a little freaked. You see, it happened like this. I fell asleep on the living room couch, as per usual, which, in open plan living style, is in the same room as the kitchen. Anyway, after doing her usual tinkering in said kitchen, my mum was the last to go to bed. And she hates it that I sleep on the couch. So somehow [though I am not insinuating anything], the gas on the kitchen stove got left on, releasing deadly carbon monoxide into the air that I was breathing all night. Yikes. My dad woke up next morning, and opened his and mum's bedroom door [which had conveniently cordoned them off from danger] to find two things: (1)the undeniable reek of gas, and (2)my peaceful and innocent form slumbering on the couch. I was fine, due to the aforementioned window situation, but alls I'm saying is that I just as easily might not have been. So, as I said, I am a little freaked. And suspicious.

You see, my mum is what I would call the passive-aggressive type. She lets her rage out indirectly in little bursts of 'stinging' mutters. This, as you can imagine, garners little response. So I am just wondering if my consistency in acting against her wishes somehow tripped her impotent frustration over into something more pathological. Perhaps something in her brain snapped, and decided [I am hoping subconsciously] to 'teach me a lesson' about the perils of going against her. You want to sleep on the couch, daughter dear? Let's see how much you like it when you're dead. Harrumph! But that's just crazy talk, right? I'm sure it was just an accident. Yeah. I'm sure it was just that her belly brushed across the stove's knob as she was leaning over it to switch on the kettle. Yeah. I'm sure that's all it was. I mean, I shouldn't be worried right? She's my mum, yo? They don't do that, right? And anyway, accidents happen, don't they? And no harm came of it really. So, um, case closed. Right?