I actually had work this morning. Well, it was an MRI session scheduled a quarter to 8, but I thought my parents wouldn't see the bent hood and tie-down wires because I would leave the house first. But, for some unknown goddamn reason, my parents left the house before 7. Fuck you, fate.
I just parked at the U. research center when the phone rang. It was My Fucking Father. Even though I told him I was in an accident last night over dinner, he blew his top over the car. He was shooting his damn mouth off about bullshit. Let me see ... he asked me what happened, then he told me about insurance, then said "That's OK," (and by the way, that's bullshit, it is definitely not OK with him) then I think he accused me of not working when I told him yesterday that I didn't work because I was trying to get the car fucking fixed. Finally, the cheap bastard insisted that I do not get this fixed. Here is My Fucking Father, being a typical hypocrite, accusing me of "having no feeling," spouting off with his verbal diarrhea while not listening to a single goddamn word I have to say.
He said we'll talk as soon as I get back. So between now and then, where I hope to work on my next sports column, watch a movie (World War Z?) and go to Barnes & Noble in order to get my mind away from thinking about my mortality, I need to work on my spiel. I told My Fucking Father that I am going to get this fixed (to a tune of $500 -- could not underestimate the damage they saw this morning for anything less, but I don't think I could even reason with him if I told him the real amount) and it's already done. I also have to convince him that I need this car, and that there is no way I can just go around with the hood tied up like that. I don't know if it'll work, and yet I feel undeservedly optimistic right now. I don't know why. Maybe it's the coffee I'm drinking. But I need to dampen my enthusiasm, and right now.
What I'm scared My Fucking Father will do, and what he probably will do, is yell at me for getting into "an accident." And then he'll somehow tie this into not going back to school, like that has any fucking thing to do with this. If he gets on that tangent, I'm fucked; he's out of control, and there's no way to reason with him. (All the while Mother won't get in the middle of this -- totally useless in these cases, as usual.) I am really, really afraid of what he'll do and threaten to do to me.
However ... while driving here to the library I thought about this car. I have complained about "The Second Sound," the vibrating coming through the shift selector, the inconsistent idling, and the resistance I feel from the car as it accelerates. Now, I'm not saying I want to let the car go. But I could see My Fucking Father deciding to take the car away from me -- officially, he owns it -- and giving me the SUV that is supposed to be my sister's which has been in storage for years now. I don't know if it has 20,000 miles on it, and it's 13 years old. I can totally imagine him getting that thing up and running right now. That would be yet another overreaction from him, but I have to be honest: If he orders me to stop using my baby, the car I've been with for the past 20 years, that means no more worrying about "The Second Sound," or the vibrations, or the idling problems or the hesitation issues. Hey, I'm trying to look on the bright side here.
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