The idea of "normal" gets skewed a little when you're the only mother in your kid's class that's still in her twenties. Or when that same kid (your kid) calls you by the name you made up to give your "clients," and his pet name for you is "be-yotch." Normal is relative when you think of condoms as "overhead," or when you meet a middle-aged john every Friday to change his diaper and tickle his tummy.
You aren't supposed to care about "normal."
Except that, when your 60-year-old mother is i-chatting with you—drunk as hell—from a club bathroom and babbling about a little girl she knew named Francine, you remember that, once upon a time, you were that little girl and you had your whole life ahead of you. The thought of it is too much too bear, and Normal suddenly seems less like a corny pipe dream and more like a reality that you might've liked to have tried for a while. Maybe It wouldn't have been so bad.
Normal can't be any worse than this.
There's no way out now, though. "Blue" is here and she isn't going anywhere anytime soon. Even though her life isn't normal, it's been that way for a long, long time. Blue is a non-conformist. She works hard and plays by her own rules. She "rules the freakin' world." But being great at juggling the insanity is soo overrated and, at the moment, Blue feels like shit. Like things have always been shit and they always will. She doesn't even know what she did to deserve such a great son, but she's waiting for the other shoe to drop. He's growing up and asking questions; she terrifies herself with thoughts that one day…
The truth will out.
She can hear him coming out of his room for the umpteenth time, and she really wish he would just go to bed. Because even though she's his mom, she's a human being. And sometimes she just wants to roll over and die.