seven and thirteen are always lucky

this is the seventh week of the year… the thirteenth day of february. those are my lucky numbers. Always have been. Seven and thirteen.

So, I guess it was fitting that when my mom called, this time I answered.

She first asked if I was alive, which, by my voice was apparent. Then wasted no time to ask how Hawaii was.

Then for probably twenty minutes we just talked. It was like nothing had happened. And for that time, I was content with that. It was nice. I do have a mom. I’m not crazy. She does care.

But then I thought about the past two years. The times when she left evil messages. The deal with my truck. The fact that I had shingles to which she was clueless yet continued to leave threatening messages without concern for my well-being.

So, I confronted her about it… it was basically to no avail as she had an excuse and placed the blame on my friends for not calling. Me not calling. She held no blame, she thought.

And then that came up… nonchalantly. And we danced around it for a minute. O.k., more than a minute. Again, I was content. But not for long.

She eluded to knowing. She just didn’t use the word. She told me that I knew she disapproved. Ha. Yeah, I know.

But I wanted to hear what she had to say.

“so, you have no problem with my being gay,” I asked.

“Mathew, if you’re gay, you’re gay.”

Hmph. That’s all? No speech? No crying? No lashing out?

Apparently not.

I’ve not come out to her earlier simply because… well, I wasn’t ready and I knew she wasn’t ready, either. She had no support, I reminded myself, even if I did tell her. And, quite frankly, I don’t think it’s everyone’s business. They make it… but it’s not. I’d shutter to think of what some people do in their bedroom… what I do in mine is my business, I think.

Nonetheless, she knows now. and for that I’m happy. I really am. It’s not the huge lifting of a boulder as many have described. But it does seem like there’s a wall missing now between us. Granted, while I still feel lost in the middle of a maze with her on the outside, there’s one less wall.

We talked about the blazer, too, but that just turned sour. I hate that truck. I hate the fact I ever got it. I hate every penny I’ve put into it (to which I have receipts). It’s been nothing but a headache and a wedge since I got it. I’m glad it’s gone…

Well… other than that, I rode down to the airport today to apply for a job but they weren’t hiring as someone told me. oh, at avis. Oh well. Craig is going to help with my resume to submit to bank of America… hope that goes well.

I’ve also decided that I’m going to seek volunteer options at the center for visually impaired. I think it would certainly enrich my life but I also want to be around it to help my decision on whether to change my major back to education for the blind, deaf and handicapped. Maybe I’ll go by there tomorrow. It’s across the street, after all.

I’m proud of myself. Even if no one else is, which I know many are, I am.

Seven and thirteen. Bet on ‘em.