Emotional Forecast

Can't stand this freaky manic depressive schizoid weather. What the hell is this?

On Tuesday it was a sunny 27 degrees, and today it's a whopping 7 degrees, overcast, cold and rainy. Talk about mood swings. I realise we live in Canada, but geez, can't we at least be consistent? I feel as though I'm being jerked around. Just as I get hopeful that spring is indeed around the corner, I'm suddenly submerged back in some pre-winterlike wonderland.

Earlier this week, I was sunbathing on a friend's roof, topless, and today I'm searching for my downfilled vest. One day dehydrated, the next frostbitten. Go figure.

I hate inconsistency. Few people thrive on it, I realise, but I have a particular bugaboo about it. I think my distaste for it has its roots in my childhood. My mother was wildly inconsistent. Well to be fair, she was actually consistent in her inconsistencies. In retrospect, I realise that she was constantly exhausted, and that extreme fatigue manifested itself in the way of irritability, impatience and general intolerance towards people. If there was a choice between yelling or quiet admonishment, she picked the former. I would get berated for transgressions such as leaving a cupboard door slightly ajar. The verbal abuse would go on for about fifteen minutes steadily during which she would rain all kinds of critcism upon me. I was lazy, ungrateful, incompetent, unhelpful, selfish, incapable of amounting to anything in life, everything I did was half-assed, etc. Sometimes the screaming symphony would be accompanied by mild physical abuse -- kicks, slaps and objects pitched at me. Later, after she'd calmed down, I think the guilt would set in. Probably at the sight of me fearfully and quietly approaching her with her after-dinner coffee in hand. She would overcompensate by doing something wildly out of character, like hug and kiss me and try to make amends -- I was always suspicious, never quite sure if it was a trap to get me to let down my guard. If I didn't respond correctly, that would often set off another screaming session. I felt more nervous when she was being nice to me than when she was hysterical because I never knew what to expect.

Of course, there was always a backlash to the nice period. Guilt fueled more anger. My mother then became enraged because she felt that she was grovelling for my approval unnecessarily. After all, she was the one who was doing everything, wasn't she? I should be grateful. What the hell was she doing being nice to me when I was clearly the lazy one? The anger and resentment would build up so that at the next available opportunity, she would pounce upon me and the abuse would rain down harder than before.

As an adult, I watch the weather channel each morning, to see what the day promises to be. I pay special attention to the long term forecast. I like knowing what lies ahead. From the age of about two years, my eldest child, J. has also tuned into The Weather Network. Like me, he feels betrayed by sudden and unexpected changes in weather. Like me, he also dislikes inconsistency and change. He thrives on routine. For his sake, I've struggled to be consistent in my parenting. He's learned to trust me and count on that. (He's been especially frustrated with this weather and constantly badgers me as though I am responsible for it).

The thing is that like the weather, my mother was sometimes wildly unpredictable. An open cupboard door usually signalled stormy weather, but not necessarily. Sometimes actions that previously elicited a sunny smile to my mother's face would when repeated later, bring about a thunderous screaming session.

I have to admit though ... as much as I hate the inconsistencies of the weather, there is some excitement in the unexpected. Today's weather sucks and the forecast for tomorrow is similiar, but there is the possibility that we may wake up tomorrow to a complete change in the system. My mother might freak out over something seemingly trivial, but then again, she might respond by joking around with me. The lows simply emphasize one's appreciations for the highs.