Setting Me Off

Tonight, driving home just now, I looped back to the son-of-a-bitch who flipped out and threatened to have me fired.  Even though this was two years ago, I can't help but go back to that bad memory.  I can't shake that memory because I still love the job that puts me in the same place as he is.  Guy's such a bully, I will not put it past him that he will try and take my job from me in the near future.  I think he's that conniving.

I was absolutely taken over by the fear and anger that wells up whenever I think about him and that run-in during my drive home.  And maybe that set me up for what happened afterward.

My Fucking Father wanted me home early tonight after I decided to go to the Crashed Ice finals in St. Paul. Went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition), then coffee, then home.  Got home at 1.  To me, that's early.

Probably wasn't to My Fucking Father.  Maybe that's why he said what he said.  Or, maybe he was going to say it even if I stayed home.  He too is a bully, a very passive-aggressive one.

So, he says, "Are you working tomorrow?"

Part of me knew I was about to walk right into his trap.  But I couldn't lie; there's a chance of ice and freezing rain tomorrow, and I'm not going to drive into that if I can help it.  So I said no.

"Then you should clean up your room ..." and in my head I just totally lost it, GODDAMN WHY DID I SAY THAT???  I'M FUCKING GONNA KILL YOU, YOU MOTHERFUCKER, MY ROOM IS CLEAN ENOUGH, YOU JUST SAY THAT TO BE AN ASSHOLE AND NITPICK OVER STUPID SHIT BECAUSE I GOT HOME LATER THAN YOU WANTED ME TO AND YOU'RE A FUCKING CLEAN-FREAK WEIRDO!!!  But all I did was note that my bedroom door was open.  These days I make a point to shut it because I don't want anybody (read: My Fucking Father) to pry into my personal business.  Of course, I don't lock it.  And this is Exhibit A as to why I maybe should.  He was nagging at me to clean up either papers or clothes (did he look into my closet, too?  That's none of your goddamn business!!!), but I couldn't hear which because I was mocking his words under my breath: "Me-me-me-me-me-me-me-me ..." -- you know, kind of like Beeker.  And I'm still saying that under my breath now.  How infuriating what that asshole said to me.

I'm running hot right now.  Would I be this pissed off if I wasn't mentally consumed by the guy who threatened me two years ago?  Maybe, maybe not.  My Fucking Father could push my buttons alone by the way he set me up when I came home.

Triggers, it's all triggers.  The best way to be free of those triggers is to remove yourself from them.  But that means both leaving my job and leaving home.  I won't do the former, I really can't do the latter.  Moreover, I can't really do anything about the former, at least not now.  The latter?  Well, I quickly flashed through what it would take to, say, go back to school in Los Angeles.  That way I could be free of this bullshit.  But seeing as how I have no money and no real reason to go back to school, all I'm going to do is blog about it (again, the main reason why I created Wailing And Failing is to have an outlet for all my frustrations and fears), go to sleep, wake up tomorrow morning, and not do a goddamn thing about cleaning my room.  Because fuck My Fucking Father, the douchelord.

One other thing that keeps cropping up in my mind: My Fucking Father repeatedly is accusing me of things the same way Grandmother did as her dementia came over her her last year at home.  She continually said I took her checkbook; not only does he continue to say I need to throw away my things, he has also began to accuse me of losing papers that I have given to him for him to keep.  I'm not saying he is suffering from Alzheimer's; he's done this for a long time, and I attribute that to him just being a bad father.  But I can imagine him, if he does start to, you know, go mentally, go back to these beliefs he holds on to with an iron fist and say this to me 24/7 as he's older.  I want to stay home for them, but the house got very tense when Grandmother started to lose her bearings.  I don't know if I want to be around if My Fucking Father also begins to deteriorate in his mind.

In the meantime, Fuck You, Father.  Seriously, go fuck yourself.