A continual disappointment

I thought my parents leaving would make my life easier. And, to be clear, it has. I still have to interact with them ,however, and last night we Zoomed with my brother while they grind out their quarantine for two weeks in a hotel room. My brother was late because he had appointments all day long and my mother couldn’t wait so she started a meeting. First thing my father asks is if ‘the restaurant’ was still sending meals. He meant Origin Meals, which is not a restaurant, but prepared meals. I said no. He barged on, worrying about my breakfast (because we didn’t eat Origins for breakfast).

Side note: i have a weird habit of adding an ‘s’ at the end of things when abbreviating them. Like Origin Meals to Origins and Cub Foods to Cubs.

I mean, I’ve lived alone all my life except for one year and have managed to feed myself up to this point. More to the point, what was he going to do about it? And what had he done about it while here? Jack and shit. My mom cooked breakfast, not him. He just sat on his ass and scrolled through his phone, adding spam to it because he didn’t know what the hell he was doing.

Anyway, after the needless talk about how I’m feeding myself, my mom nervously cleared her throat. I went on high alert because I knew that she was about to say something that was going to piss me off. And I was right. She brought up what I was doing with my life and mentioned getting a degree in psychology. A graduate degree, to be clear.

Backstory: Every time my parents visit, there’s at least one if not several talks about what I’m going to do with my life. I understand why they bring it up, but they go about it in the worst possible way. And in this case, I was hoping we could skip it entirely and just be happy I was alive. But, no. They brought it up–or actually, my mother brought it up several times. The times my father was there, he just sat there with that blank look on his face because he couldn’t follow the conversation. I made it clear that I did not want to talk about it because I was focusing on recovering. I said I had enough money to be fine for six months (and, really, I could go a year)  and that was what I was going to do. Please note the six months comment because that’s important.

So during the Zoom call, my mother mentioned that she and my father had been talking. My hackles went up because that meant they’d been talking about me. Or rather, my father was endlessly pontificating with my mother placating him. That’s how this works. I know this.

Side note: When my brother and I took my parents to the airport, they wanted to walk while waiting. I didn’t want to so I sat down and waited while they were walking with my brother. Actually, they ended up sitting elsewhere and talking–about me and what I’m doing with my life. My brother told me about it later. My father was blathering about me living a productive life. My brother tried to push him on what he meant by productive and it boiled down to me having a ‘real’ job. Never mind that by that definition, my father did not have a productive life and has not had one in years. Which means that he’s projecting the hell out of the situation.

I can gather that my father continued to push his belief that I need to be ‘productive’ so my mother felt she had to beat the same drum. Anyway, she brought up that she knew I didn’t want to talk about this–which, by the way, is infuriating.  It doesn’t make it any better that you know you’re going to piss me off! It makes it worse because you KNOW it and you do it, anyway.

She said that she knew I didn’t want to discuss my future, but what about if I became a psychologist in three months? I’m harshly categorizing what she said, but that’s truly the gist of it. And note that she said three months more than once when I repeatedly said while they were here that I wasn’t even going to consider it for six months if not a year. I told her frostily that I would tell her in three months. Which, I should not have done. Why? Because it put it in her terms of three months, which is not what I want.

My brother has brought up me being a psychologist recently as well. It doesn’t bother me when he brings it up because I know he’s looking out for me. And he doesn’t do it in a devious/shaming way. He’s told me that I’d be a good psychologist.

Here’s the thing. I know I ‘d be a good psychologist. I’d be an EXCELLENT psychologist. The question is if I want to be one and if I want to go through what it takes to be one. These days, you need a PhD or a PsyD in order to be one, which means many years of schooling. I don’t have a problem with schooling; I actually really enjoyed school. I love learning! But I have not thought about going to grad school in quite some time and I am not ready to do it at the moment. More to the point, badgering me about it while I’m still recovering is not cool, not cool at all.

It’s only been three months. I did a bunch of research yesterday about the after effects of a cardiac arrest or a stroke and while I’ve been very lucky, I am not assuming that I escaped consequence-free. And I have to deal with the psychological ramifications. In other words, I am not thinking about life goals right now; I’m just living my life. Honestly, I’m deliriously happy that I HAVE a life and you would think my parents would be on that page.

But, no. Me being miraculously alive is not enough. Two-and-a-half months is plenty of time to bounce back from a life-threatening event. Three of them. Four, if you count the pneumonia that kicked it all off. None of that matters because now I’m a slacker for not immediately jumping into school fulltime. Or whatever else my parents want me to do. Again, I understand that they’re concerned about my finances, but maybe hold back on that for more a little longer?

It’s wholly deflating to have my wants and needs summarily ignored. It’s irritating as fuck to have this repeatedly brought up in a variety of ways when I said I don’t want to  talk about it right  now. Nothing says, “I care about you” like completely trouncing on stated boundaries. And from a psychologist, no less! Yes, it certainly makes me want to become one. (No, it doesn’t.)

I’m not opposed to thinking about becoming a psychologist; I just don’t want to get forced into doing it when I’m focusing on recovery.