Hubble Bubble Toil and Trouble

I'VE GOT BOIL IN THE BAG COD-IN-PARSLEY-SAUCE HUBBLING AWAY so this will have to be (relatively) quick. Big thanks to everyone for your wisdom re my mother. It's a complicated situation. To cut an incredibly long story short (because the story of my Mum is the story of my life: or they are, at least, in their very essences intertwined ... ...) About two years ago at Xmas time, having been out of touch for several years, she and her husband (my stepdad) turned up at my mailing address, which is Mother Hubbard's house and found me there, looking downtrodden and bedraggled. She was horrified, though at the time I didn't see this. I sat there in my coat and hat (defence mechanisms: don't ask for further explanation on that front; I can't give it) -- when my back was turned she asked Mother Hubbard "What is wrong with my son?" Mother H told her directly: "He is on methadone." And a lot of questions re why my life was never ever together were probably instantly answered. I told my Mum I was "doing well" on methadone which is a bit of a lie but probably what she wanted to hear. Her husband, however, just sees me as a hapless junkie (which I am). As I mentioned below, about the second time I saw her after this episode, I of course cleaned myself up as best I could but omitted to shave. I thought our meeting went rather well. But afterwards, on smoking a cigarette in a mainline railway station on the way home (I was getting the bus out of there) I was apprehended by police and "ejected from the station," according to the pink receipt they gave me, for "loitering". This made me think twice about my demeanour and appearance, especially when I'm in the company of my mother. She doesn't want to believe I'm an ongoing junkie. So now I make the biggest possible effort to physically smarten myself up whenever I see her and it seems to work. Just for the day, I feel like a different man. Why can't I keep this up? What is the meaning of the Universe? My appearance impinges on their marriage and what she has to listen to him saying about me. Of course she worries about me and so cannot keep her mouth shut to him regarding me anyway (and I wouldn't expect her to, though I'd prefer it). I make the biggest effort I can. I greatly appreciate all your advice and it's taken on board. But it came too late for this time. I get to see her again in about a month ...

Re my door: yes it's absolutely true; I am sleeping with not a lock between me and the street at night. This has been done a thousand nights before (though my door did at least have the semblance of locking back then; now it just hangs open and will not even shut on the dead latch ...) I have decided (rape alarms aside (I know how to attach one to a door) to simply buy for the short-term an almighty bolt or two and just bolt myself in at night. Everyone who knows this house knows Matran. They would not dare cause trouble. I feel like one of those fishies in the nature programme that pings immunely in and out of the poisonous monster's tentacles unharmed ... that has been the story of much of my life. Poisonous people though they probably don't "like" me, can tolerate me well enough that I become exempt from the ructions, rows and palavers of their lives (I simply will not get involved) so with Matran it's a bit like that. Yes, a bolt it's going to be.

And as for my landlord: shouldn't he fix it. Well the front door's been kicked in so very many times he never fixes it within a month of it being kicked in and very often it's kicked back off it's bearings within a week. So he feels no rush to do that. And there's a lot of things he's meant to do that he does not do. And a lot of things he ought not do that he does ...


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