It seems like shit has been rather persistently and even rhythmically hitting the fan ever since I got back from Seattle. It's like my absence has made so many people realise how much better life is when I'm not around. Well, nuts to them, really. They can just go fuck themselves, la la di da, I say. No sir, I ain't gonna let it get me down, nyah huh.
(frell, I think I've caught Richard's cough).
To-day's offender was my biological father, Ted, who'd made an appointment with me on Wednesday night to discuss something with me "in private" on Thursday night (Wednesday, his girlfriend Patty was home and anyway he was drunk).
Turns out, he'd needed privacy in order to tell me that he's realised that I'm nothing more than a lazy bum and that I had to get all my stuff out of his house.
That's the gist of a conversation that involved him asking me, "Do you think you can really live life without a paying job?" to which I'd replied, "Yeah, at the moment, I apparently can," which'd stumped him for a moment. The bastard evidently has forgotten or has gone back on his agreement with me that I could stay there so long as I had a job or was going to school. It suddenly didn't seem logical to him that I should quit my part time job--which was only a distraction--and take eleven units of classes at college. Although the hardest part, of course, is justifying to him the validity of making time for my writing and other artistic pursuits which are not currently yielding profit. I told him that for one thing it was spiritually rewarding, which he of course took as absolute bull. Gods . . . It seems some people are so fucking concerned with how to live that they forget that some of us need to find a reason to live.
I had to smile when he got to the part of his argument where he insisted that the fact that I was male made it especially important that I not live off the generosity of my grandmothers. Oy vey.
Of course, I pointed out the flaws in all his weird little argument (it's no hardship for my grandmother to let me stay under her roof, especially as I help her out with some chores), so in the end he was reduced to justifying his argument with "that's how life is". And then he started physically shoving me around the kitchen. What a fucking neanderthal.
I guess the weirdest part, though, was that he began the conversation with, "So I hear you haven't been brushing your teeth."
The implications of this statement were so bizarre and troubling that it took me a moment to respond. "First of all, I have been brushing my teeth. Second of all, on whose authority do you make this accusation?" Just who is it that he's been talking to who thinks they can make such a pronouncement regarding my hygiene, and yet have made an inaccurate pronouncement? Sometimes I think I should be more paranoid.
"It's just something I heard," he said, unwilling to identify his informant.
...
I feel I should mention here that Tim's sister's now in jail. I feel awful for that girl. She's made such a colossal amount of varied mistakes.
...
And finally, I got a good start on chapter 71, which looks like it's going to be a very long chapter. I'm starting to feel a little self-conscious about my ability to create three dimensional characters . . .
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