Fear and loathing in the Midwest

So I'm back at work after nearly a week off.  Why is it so hard to get back into the swing of things after a "vacation"?  I'm just sitting here staring off into space.  I keep logging on to Facebook hoping there will be a rash of updates for me to read.  Sadly, there aren't.  I guess everyone is tackling their inboxes like I should be doing.
 
Anyway, I had this whole blog post typed out about my mother and Thanksgiving.  Then I got too scared to post it.  Yes, me, a 35 year old woman who is married and has a child of her own was TOO SCARED to post anonymously about her mother.  What if one day I become a famous blogger (ha ha) and my mother goes through my old posts and reads what I wrote about her in 2009?  What if someone I know gets offended by my post and sends it to my mother?  And why does my mother have such a hold on me?  Why is it that when I go to her house for a holiday I suddenly turn into my 15 year old self?  Afraid to rock the boat. 
 
Maybe my issues lie in the fact that my mother is a very private person.  She doesn't like anyone to know what's going on with our family.  Everyone has skeletons in their closets.  Everyone has a black sheep somewhere.  We are no different.  And personally, I think it's freeing to be open about that stuff.  There are many more people that can relate to you than those that can't.  If they judge, so be it.  What are we hiding from?  (Other than my mother, of course)
 
Maybe it's because years ago my mother was in the basement of our old childhood home cleaning out boxes.  She came across a box of my stuff and inside were some letters.  Of course my mother opened the letters and read them.  They were in HER house she she had the right, she claimed.  One letter I had written to a friend referred to my mother by her first name.  This horrified my mother.  "YOU DO NOT CALL ME C!  YOU CALL ME MOM!  I AM YOUR MOTHER!"  I think there were other things I said in the letter but for some reason calling her by her first name to a friend of mine was the worst offense.  I asked why she even read them as they were my private property and she went on again about how they were in her house so she had the right to read them.  The whole thing caused way too much drama and many weeks of not speaking to one another.
 
So what could really happen?  My hope would be that she would read what I wrote and view it objectively.  But I also think that's my 15 year old pie in the sky self trying to rationalize my actions.  The 35 year old brain knows that I just wrote an entire blog post about not writing a blog post about my mother.