My Fucking Father is still coming at me in ways I can't anticipate.  He starts talking to me about football and Favre's return to Green Bay, then he chases me to my room after asking me out of the blue about going back to school.  Then he talks to me about football again before getting pissy over something -- he used his Fucking Whiny Voice, the one that ends in an upward inflection and in a increasingly loud, "AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" -- while bringing in the mushrooms and onions for the steaks he's also cooking in the back propane tanks.  (I didn't catch what he was being a little bitch over, I was watching the game.)  And then he asks me a question about Aaron Rodgers.

I'm not going to say that I'm being narcissistically sensitive, a psychological diagnosis I read recently and something I might blog about some time later.  I've taken a lot of shit from My Father.  But I could be wrong.  Maybe he doesn't realize how much he pisses me off, although if he's like me he won't forget the time I just went off on him after he made me pull weeds while I was dead tired.  Or maybe, just maybe, he's been actively immaturely, and this is his way of saying he isn't mad at me (this is a pattern of behavior I've seen from him the past, oh, since the NFL season began).  Maybe he's trying to turn a new leaf.

Or maybe I'm just delusional.