I have just returned from the Underworld. And Moms is way up my ass. She wants me to come to her house (which smells like cat pee), stay with her, let her watch over me, and take care of me. It doesn’t help my case that I sound like I’ve been gargling cut glass.
Poor Persephone! How bad must she have gotten it from Demeter when she came back? The hovering, the crying, the worrying, the scolding, the “I told you not to wander so far” bullshit. And when she found out she’d eaten those measly pomegranate seeds? Six of them. Bitch was fucking starving. She did the best she could.
It’s not helping. It’s not making me want to tell my mom shit. It just makes me retreat further into myself. I don’t want to talk to her about it. I don’t trust her. I don’t want my mommy. I want my friends. Yes, it was nice that she came and visited me in the hospital, but it was upsetting, too. No one wants their mother to see them at such a low point. That’s not good for anyone.
Damn, the walk of shame the daughter of a goddess must have to do when coming back from Hades’s house. Now that’s embarrassing. I was just in the mental hospital for four days. And I never have to go back, if I play my cards right (and my head stays screwed on). She had to go back every fucking year. Think of the chattering Demeter would start up every August about what a fuck-up she was. It’s your fault we have winter, you know. Wow. I have nothing to compete with that. I’m a burnout, but I haven’t done anything so gloriously wrong for my mother to crow about yet.
I’ll bet Hades has better showers in his palace, though.