Again, I Run To The Safety Of My Delusions

I don't like helping my parents out at the store, especially in this particular case. But he is My Father, and he can't watch it alone. So, upon him asking me over the weekend what hours he can help out, and after hours upon hours of hating it, I sucked it up today and, after my two hours at the hearing lab at the U., went over to the store to see what was going on. I told Father that I told them to let me go, and that I would be doing so for the foreseeable future.

What he wanted to do was not go to the warehouse, which I was anticipating. No, he wanted me to be the lookout as he did some stuff in the back. And to be honest, even though it was three-plus hours of standing around and catching up on my reading, the true part of me, deep inside me, was kind of relieved.

I say relieved because I was worried that I would have to do was the carrying, moving over, back-breaking, tiring process of transferring shit from where it is to where it needs to be. That's why I did Friday, and I was gritting my teeth over what I thought was the probability of doing that again Monday afternoon, and most afternoons until ... this is all over. But I didn't. Maybe it's because Father thought he needed to stay at the store. Look, it wasn't busy, and it hasn't been for more than a decade. But there was one person who needed something in the back, and there were three people who got retail stuff at the front, including a regular who got tickets. Anyway, no arduous real labor today. Maybe we'd only do that if Mother's working at the store. Or maybe he got done with all of that shit already without me.

But this is where I need to step back and slap myself. My depression has temporarily lifted -- It's not so bad, I thought to myself, this is kind of like the holidays where I'm up front and reading something while somebody who actually knows what he's doing is doing all the work! And then I overheard Father saying that he's going retail. So we're going to do this more often, Father!!

No. Can't be true. The truth is (and I think I'm starting to reveal the secret) is that I looked in the back, and one of the four giant freezers have been turned off. I also see some garbage cans lying about, as well as a pail of dirty water. If I think everything's going to be the same, I need to fucking wake up.

I always do this. I am such a weak man that I can turn any little phrase I overhear, or even a sign that my twisted mind can misconstrue, into something positive. That way I can dream -- generally, and precisely in this case, that things are going to be the same. Mother and Father would be working at the same place they always have, I won't have to worry about who's paying for the food we're going to eat or next month's electric bill, and everything (save the fighting) will be hunky dory, and we'll all live happily ever after, amen. I am a bitter man, but deep down inside, I am a hopeless optimist because otherwise I would die.

But I can't hide it. Even though I might not have to go to the warehouse (and I'm sure I will at some point), that doesn't mean ... well, it's a secret. Back to reality, U-Dub; I should be as depressed as I was when he broke the news to me on Thursday, or Sunday night at the gym, when I couldn't help but think about it no matter how hard I ran or how much I laughed at The Marriage Ref (and I did, sincerely, believe it or not).

I'm using my daydreaming to be keep me sane. Which means it's going to be that much harder to adjust when I can no longer avoid reality. It's what I'm doing now. I hate that about myself, but I can't think of any other way I can deal with this.

I'm sorry to bore you guys about this, but this will be the main topic of W&F for the intermediate term. It's the only way I can get my feelings out. It's ironic that I'll be talking so much about something that's supposed to be a secret. Again, I am very, truly, deeply sorry. Please bear with me.