It seems as if every time I come home late, My Fucking Father's in the kitchen eating something. That fucking sucks because if he's up there, he has told me to take a shower. And he did so tonight, after I came home from the concert. And I don't know why it's this time what he said infuriated me. Maybe this was the last straw, or maybe it was a follow-on from earlier in the day when he kept shoving apples in my face telling me to eat them. But I tried escaping to the bathroom to avoid him saying it, and I don't know why I did that, because he blurted out, "OK, go take a shower and go to sleep."
Thing is ... I just took a shower. I was kind of stinky today -- just a tad, but I helped My Fucking Father move chairs out of my parents' minivan, I walked from parking at one end of St. Paul to the X at the other, and on my way back I walked through a pretty heavy rainstorm. I really, really wanted to disobey My Fucking Father and just go to bed ... but I feel pretty fresh now, to be honest. No, it's Father asserting control again just because he wants to. I can't let him have that, even if he got me this time -- and I have to admit, part of me showering just now is me giving to him.
I can't wait for them to leave. Fuck it, I can't wait for My Fucking Father to die. Controlling asshole.
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