Got the car today. Work disruption is over. Everything else is disrupted instead, but being able to drive to work is no longer a problem, and that is what matters.
Now the blowback with my folks. I'll confess: I'm 39 years old and my parents paid for my car, my new car. And because of that, even though I am secretly relieved that they took care of this process for me, I am waiting for my parents to use that against me the next time they think I'm not applying myself. Which is every day of the week, and in fact every time I see them.
Mother crammed that idea down my throat this morning in a bizarre way. I actually deluded myself into thinking they would be cool with the idea of buying me a new car because for the longest time they thought I should have junked my old car, so finally I got around to that idea. But when Father asked me which dealership we were going to yesterday (Tuesday) morning, even though I thought we had gone through that the night before, Mother launched into one of these crazy tirades she sometimes does where she warns me that My Fucking Father is acting crazy and it's my responsibility to deal with it. In this case, My Fucking Mother said that My Fucking Father hates my temp job, the test scoring jobs I'm doing now and the rest of the contract work I do the rest of my days. "You have to sit down and talk to him, ask him why are you so mad!" she said, like a shrill bitch.
I tried to be nice. I tried thanking my parents as we both were driving away from the lot, them back home in their minivan and me to work in my brand-new car. But My Fucking Father looked at me blankly, as if he was doing all he can from saying how disappointed his with me. That's when My Fucking Mother spewed from her mouth that "You have to sit down and talk with him about why you make him so mad!" Thank-yous can't be just thank-yous with these people; there are always recriminations hiding behind it. That's how my folks are different from everybody else's folks, and that's why I find them absolutely impossible to deal with many times. I should have just left without saying how grateful I was. Their reaction wasn't going to be any different.
So no. No, no, no, no, no, I am not falling into that trap of opening the lines of communication with My Fucking Father. It's not as if I don't feel like I owe them anything. But this cycle of dependence never fails: When I ask something of them, they take over the whole thing, then as my guard is down, they ask impossible things of me in return, like finding a permanent job, going back to school, or moving out. That is what My Fucking Father will come at me for if I do "sit down to talk with him," therefore there ain't no goddamn chance in hell I'll do it if I can avoid them. Which I really can't; I have to come back home for dinner at a regular hour tomorrow, but I won't bring it up, and I hope to Buddha he won't fucking bring it up either. Probably not, but if that's the case I'll do my usual routine, whereby I stammer non-committal answers, look down, and lie.
See, that's why I should have just struck out on my own and found a new car by myself. No, I didn't have the money to pay it all. Maybe I would have had to finance it, or go buy that cheap car down the street for four grand. But doing it myself means I don't owe them anything, and therefore I wouldn't be knuckled under this situation that My Fucking Mother said I had to mediate because, somehow, my car breaking down is my fucking fault.
And by the way, why the hell do I have to calm My Fucking Father down ? Why can't he calm himself the fuck down? And what is he mad about? Bitch, that ain't my problem. But it is, because these guys paid for my car, and such a deed will cost me. Like all deeds done by my parents seem to always come with a price when it comes to me.
Whatever. Bring it. I'll just wear them down with my immovable silence, again.
No comments:
Post a Comment