Motherfuckin' goddamn Father didn't call me this morning and I didn't hear it. I knew that would fucking happen when I was rushing to go to sleep after My Fucking Father went up to the kitchen to start his day before 5 in the fucking morning. I forget to take my cellphone off of silent before going to bed, and so I wake up only when its alarm goes off, at 10:45. He called a bit after 10. At least I now know the cell's alarm will go off no matter what the setting.
And thank goodness My Fucking Father wasn't being a brat about what he left a message for. I could totally see him bitching about his computer not working and leaving four, eight voicemails. But no, just the one message about his laptop needing fixing at the store. Well, Grandmother is outside, so there's no way I could sneak out and grab the food I want to donate, so I might as well call (reception is kind of spotty today, wait till tomorrow, she said) and then head off to my parent's work.
There I saw a peeved and petualant father sitting down, legs crossed. I was taking another call at the time, but I heard him say, "The computer at home." At home? I went to the store for nothing? (At least it was on the way to "work" at the U. and I was right on time, otherwise I would've cut a bitch [I'll explain in a bit]). And that's where I get the pathetic Father I've grown to know and hate.
Seriously, he's 66 years old acting 6 during this sniping back-and-forth we had. He went into this snit after I asked told him what was going on with reception at the store by asking questions as a way of speaking to me, but this time he added a patina of self-pity: "I haven't been able to use it the past month-and-a-half because Uncle's been away. Where do I have the time? How can I go upstairs if nobody's here?" And when I "reminded" him Uncle will try to be back next week he said the most juvenile thing he's ever said: "I don't care, you guys. ..." You guys? What the fuck did you mean by that???
I hate to admit this, but I have to admit this: I brought a kitchen knife with me to my parent's work. Normally, My Fucking Father would be apoplectic when I don't answer him back on something he feels needs to be done immediately, like fixing his laptop. I have been so fearful of what he has done that I took the step of arming myself. I really felt that if he launched into one of his patented tirades again, I would have to ... well, have to come at him with that knife, either to put defend myself or show that motherfucker I mean business.
Why didn't I just fuckin' shiv the bastard when he started asking/complaining/accusing me? I ... don't know. Maybe it was fear that somebody would walk in on me. Maybe he didn't trigger my crazy mode because he wasn't being hostile, just puerile. Or maybe a part of me realized I brought a knife with me to talk to My Fucking Father.
Shit, man, I even brought the knife even though I expecting Mother to be there. I am desparate enough to fuckin' brandish a knife in front of my mom. Luckily I didn't take it out of my back pocket, and luckily Mother wasn't there to witness anything I could have done. Instead, My Fucking Father quickly took back his allegations like the bitch he is and asked me to get something at fuckin' Menards. I said OK and I left.
And then later for dinner we had, like, OK conversations and shit about the news. No brattiness at all.
Am I related to this guy? Have to be -- I'm just as fucked up as he is.
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