November 25, 2002 - 9:14 am
I got into the office this morning and someone had left a tiny basket full of candy next to the new PC. Aww...thanks! On top was a bag of "stinky feet" a confection courtesy of Necco (the wafter people) that looks like sour patch kids with the good flavors taken out.
Didn't get much sleep last night. Damned paper kept me up until the wee hours...I'll be paying for it later this morning.
Speaking of last night, something strange happened: My dad called. This is odd for a number of reasons. You see, my dad wishes to be the "Danny Tanner" dad (see "Full House"), but is, in reality, the "..." dad (See "never there"). In all honestly, I can't remember the last time he called me on my birthday, though I can tell you that he hasn't really tried to since the year he called me three days early and I corrected him. Where some kids get cars or money or a party from their parents when they graduate from high school, good ole dad didn't even send a card or a phone call my way. It's the thought that counts, and I'd wager that he doesn't know when it occurred, since last night he responded to my comment that I'm schooling overtime by saying I was a "second/third year student" (meaning that although it was my second year, I was a junior as far as credits were concerned).
My dad is the type of person that will back me into a corner and say things to make me cry, then hug me and say "There there, it's okay, I'm here" so that he can have his "you're a good father" reassurance. No, really.
What bothers me is not that Daddy never bought me a car, or gave me his credit card, or called more than twice a year, it's that when he does bother to contact me, he figures he can make up for it by referring to his list of "good father things to say." Last night he asked me if I'd decided on a major (I'd told him this summer, and probably once before, that I was going into education), and then gave me a supportive "I think you'll be a wonderful teacher," which is exactly what he said this summer, the first time we talked about it.
What I'm getting to is that he doesn't know me, and probably doesn't care to, but he still bothers with these stupid duty calls, and I'd rather have nothing than a halfassed attempt. It's frustrating because I don't have the heart (or lack therein) to ask him to kindly fuck off, and even if I did, I'd never do it anyhow, since it would also be the end of my relationship with my older brother (see "my hero"). So instead, every couple of months (if I'm lucky) I have to take these calls that remind me how little I really mean to the man that donated half of my genetic code (Thanks Pops!), which starts an inevitable spiral as I start thinking about my mom, and all this leaves me feeling like a steaming pile of worthless, unlovable dogshit.
Okay, I'm done now.
