I'm fascinated by my immediate thought regarding this question. Every face, sans one, that comes to mind in this scenario is that of someone exceptionally maternal (and undeniably female).
A beloved college friend whose purse might weigh as much as I do, and which contains everything needed to save lives in any imaginable way. She is an amazing cook. Oh, Mr. Frodo, I forgot: I've got rope
and salt.
An old friend who always answers the phone, no matter when or where or why. Love, I'm dying. I'm claustrophobic, I'm covered in paint, I need to walk through the night with black coffee and deep reminisces of the condition of the human soul. Will you walk beside me so I'm not mugged while I let my mind destroy itself? Be there in ten minutes. I'm going alone. Of course you are, and I'm going with you.
Another friend whose house I'm sitting in. I'll probably be gone before you wake up. There's food in the kitchen, feel free to do anything. If you leave, leave the door unlocked so you can get back in. Don't forget medications, don't forget to eat. I'll be home around four. There might even be a bit of lembas in the cupboard.
My mama.
They, among others, are the practical minds in my life. While my head floats amidst clouds and steam, they hold the strings that keep me attached to this world. Don't forget to eat, you're going to be late for work, you might want to wash the chalk off your forehead before your interview, and did you remember to pay your bills this month? My Sams, who tote purses full of pain killers and bandaids and spare keys and "Of course I have sunblock." They're the ones who, at the end of every semester when my meal card lacks any money, make sure I still eat all of my meals in a timely manner. They're the ones who, when I collapse on dorm room floors, mourning professors who assign how-to books for creative classes, separate my books into piles: necessary, maybe useful, and locked-box-of-thoughts-we-try-to-forget. The ones who, as I whine about the fading away of the goth movement (or was that a trend? *sigh*), remind me that I can still purchase white face makeup online.
I can't understand how they have the sort of character necessary for what I would view as martyrdom. As I go through life trying to answer the two main questions - 'Why?' and 'Why not?' - in turn, they make sure all of the mundane bits of my life magically take care of themselves. And I can't understand how they're so good at it.
I suspect sometimes they (apart from my real mother) use me as practice for when they have kids of their own.
"You think what you're doing now is something?" I can hear them asking, one hand propped on a hip, "You weren't around when your Auntie Fea was young. Oooh the things that girl did. Would you believe she once decided that a brisk walk to the studio in three articles of clothing in negative wind chill weather was a good idea? Or maybe that time that boxers, a tank top, flip flops, and a winter coat seemed appropriate for a night time walk through snow in search of coffee... You put your hat on, missy, and I don't want any fuss."
"But if Aunt Fea did it--"
"And she'll TELL you just how cold she got. You want me to call her and ask?"
"But
Mom..."
"If you don't dress for the weather, you'll just have to stay indoors."
"I'll bet you never said that to Aunt Fea..." I can hear the wee ones grumbling pubescently...
"Oh you want to make that bet? I did just that."
And they did.
Yep... Mama Sam.