Packing now. Mom’s helping, sort of. She bought me a plant today, and a jumbo set of toilet paper. I told her, “I think they have stores there too Mom. And if I walk into the dorm with that much toilet paper my roommate’s gonna think I have bowel issues or something.” (Or that I’m a freak masturbator… which actually isn’t too far off from the truth).
“You’ll thank me later. Trust me,” she says. I really don’t want to know what my mom thinks I’ll need all that toilet paper for.
Then she asks me stuff like what color my roommate’s bed covers are. She’s asked me about this more than once. No joke. “How am I supposed to know?” I say.
“Haven’t you talked to him? I told you to ask him!”
Do you want him to think I’m gay? Do you want him to think I’m going to try to color-coordinate his pillow cases with the rainbow flag I’ll hang up on the wall? I think about saying something like this, but I don’t. Instead I say, “There are way more important things to talk about.”
“THIS is important!” she says.
There’s already more stuff than will be able to fit in my car, so we’re going to have to take two. My brother has school and my dad says he needs to work, so my mom will drive with me, in the other car. It’s a long drive. About ten hours. But my mom will stay with relatives up there for a couple days before she comes back home.
The trip is going to be long and boring, but I don’t mind it that my mom and I are in separate cars. My mom can talk a lot, and if we ride together I would probably hear a lot more about those blankets.