Dressed like a field scout
Jan. 6th, 2005 10:58 amWell, I would be if a field scout wore a lilac party skirt and a pale yellow pirate coat. That coat has helped me keep my sanity over the past few days as my Australian induced high faded back into the obscurity of my normal routine.
M. calls me at work yesterday to tell me someone is calling the house and hanging up. We'll ignore the, "Why the fuck is this my problem?" aspect for the time being. When he read me the number, I concluded it was my father. So I called my dad and bitched at him - for calling, for calling my house when I was clearly at work, for constantly calling, for hanging up, for just a lack of being aware of anyone else besides himself. Needless to say, he did not take this well. And then I started to cry, sitting at my desk in front of the computer, surrounded by the swell of Santa Maria blaring from the speakers, bawling like a four year old because I don't know if it matters, and I don't know if I should even bother. But there's a point where you stop being grateful that someone's still with you and have to start dealing with them like their actions make an impact. He's always been this self-involved, the stroke has just fed it, justifying the behavior and then I'm the evil, ungrateful child who calls him on it.
"I don't see what's wrong with calling to find out what's going on with my kid," he says to me, hurt and petulant.
"You don't call to find out what's going on with me, you're calling because you have nothing else to do."
I was angry and hurt and frustrated, and not nice. God, I wish sometimes I could be nice.
Later I called M. at a loss as to what the fuck he was thinking by calling me at work to bitch about someone calling the house. He was equally unhelpful.
The private class went well. They want to do an impossible piece of music, but I choreographed about two minutes that will be adorable.
Then I went home and watched Alias. Two hours is a bit much, there was a lot of filler, but there were comercials and I know they needed to introduce everyone in order to attract new viewers. I don't have a problem with that.
( Impressions )
D'Argo ficathon story is about half done:) I love the big guy, but I think this is going to be a short one, due to lack of my time:)
M. calls me at work yesterday to tell me someone is calling the house and hanging up. We'll ignore the, "Why the fuck is this my problem?" aspect for the time being. When he read me the number, I concluded it was my father. So I called my dad and bitched at him - for calling, for calling my house when I was clearly at work, for constantly calling, for hanging up, for just a lack of being aware of anyone else besides himself. Needless to say, he did not take this well. And then I started to cry, sitting at my desk in front of the computer, surrounded by the swell of Santa Maria blaring from the speakers, bawling like a four year old because I don't know if it matters, and I don't know if I should even bother. But there's a point where you stop being grateful that someone's still with you and have to start dealing with them like their actions make an impact. He's always been this self-involved, the stroke has just fed it, justifying the behavior and then I'm the evil, ungrateful child who calls him on it.
"I don't see what's wrong with calling to find out what's going on with my kid," he says to me, hurt and petulant.
"You don't call to find out what's going on with me, you're calling because you have nothing else to do."
I was angry and hurt and frustrated, and not nice. God, I wish sometimes I could be nice.
Later I called M. at a loss as to what the fuck he was thinking by calling me at work to bitch about someone calling the house. He was equally unhelpful.
The private class went well. They want to do an impossible piece of music, but I choreographed about two minutes that will be adorable.
Then I went home and watched Alias. Two hours is a bit much, there was a lot of filler, but there were comercials and I know they needed to introduce everyone in order to attract new viewers. I don't have a problem with that.
( Impressions )
D'Argo ficathon story is about half done:) I love the big guy, but I think this is going to be a short one, due to lack of my time:)