the time I cried in the library

I am trying to clean out my email account's Outbox right now (seeing as it contains well over 3600 messages - and that's only from January 2005!) and I came across this weird flood of memories from 28 January, 2005.

Dear Mother,
I jsut found out that the reason I am still waiting for the second portion of my OSAP funding to be released is that they want $19.27 in interest charges from mefirst. I hate this because nobody told me about that, they just said the money would be here by yesterday. I can't even get textbooks and I have two essays due next week. I guess you don't need to worry about that but I was wondering if, when I'm in Etobicoke, you could front me for a pair of shoes.. the ones I have are too small and they're causing me problems. I can just pay you backfrom the loan.. whenever it comes, next week.

I love you.

jesskah


I remember feeling bad (either the next day or later on this one) for writing "I love you" since I had never said it before or since and thought it was rather cheap that I only wrote the words when I was under deep emotional stress - "crying to mommy," I guess - and perhaps not-so-subtley asking for money. I was trying not to but I knew that if I told her what was going on, she'd hook me up. I'm sure that phrase stuck out oddly to her.

I distinctly remember finishing my conversation with an OSAP representative and being told this stupid news. I suppose it was the piled-high stress of everything else that weakened me/worsened the situation but I know I definitely had some tears rolling down my face as I composed the above email. I was kinda hoping I would run into someone I knew and kinda not. I didn't. I crack easily under the frustration of unnecessary stupidness.

The other thing that's weird about this email is that I signed my proper name. I am sure that, out of all the emails I have ever sent my mother (and many of the hand-written correspondances I have with her) I have NEVER signed my real name, except for here. Generally what I'll write is some kind of onomatopia or household name or description or random noun or something connected to my email or nothing at all - never something sensible and never consistent. It's an understanding we have. She never signs "mother" or "Annette" either. Her last email ended thusly, "smychies-held-together-with-a-kilt-pin, Zig". At least she always has a varient of "smychies" and "Zig" in there but otherwise... I have a weird family.

Second-to-last email:
snippy-tappy-McHobo
Zig
Third-to-last:
Smychies,
Zig
Fourth last:
Poobin-in-a-clampetty-cream-sauce,
Zig

Some of mine, starting with the most recent, all from this week:
peeping o'toolehan
McDonald (with two farms)
john [preceding line worth including: your face is on fire... shall I stamp it out with a large cabbage?]
jemples
poopsnack

All I have to say is that I don't understand how anyone would want to marry into this... I mean it's bad enough when you can't help yourself. But to think there may be some nutjob who would actually want to get engrafted into this family is simply outRAgeous. I say this as if anyone knows what I'm talking about.

My brother once said, after I had laughed hysterically - just me - about something neither he nor my sister thought funny, "That's why Jess is a Christian, because God is the only one who understands her." It's especiallement funny to me that he didn't know how right he must be/is/was.