I don't mean to sound bitter and really don't feel bitter.
I'm really just trying to work through all of the crazy. I know I'm trying to be logical with the illogical and there's no sense in using sense with the crazy. But still I try to understand, to find the pattern.
My mother is an agent of chaos and I think somehow, despite the chaos in my childhood, I became an agent of order. This does not mean to say I have an immaculate home. I have a small amount of disorder and clutter. The plates are stacked by size, as are the pots. All space is usable. Most things have their place and it doesn't take me long to find stuff (unless I put it in a real safe place and then there's no hope). But I do like things that make sense, I like to see order in the world. I obey traffic laws and fuss at people who litter. I return books on time. And like a dog with a bone, I fuss at puzzles until they make sense. My mother is a puzzle I do not understand. I know in my heart that she will not ever make sense to me, she is irrational, unstable and unpredictable. It's the intellectual level, where I think of memories as books in a library cross referenced in card catalogs, that I go over and over her actions and our interactions trying to unravel this Gordian knot.
So not bitter, just puzzled.