A place for my thoughts and ideas, my creative outlet, a little piece of the web for me to call my own...yeah...right...
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| a bite of chocolat... ::home:: A place for my thoughts and ideas, my creative outlet, a little piece of the web for me to call my own...yeah...right... |
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Monday, July 08, 2002 When your fucking father threatens to stop paying your tuition to a school that’s the single most important thing in your life so far, all because you slept late on a Saturday, and doesn’t give a fuck when you’re bawling your eyes out, there’s something wrong. Then he goes on and on about paying for my trip to Japan, when I worked my ass off trying to find a source of scholarship money so that I could go, found the source, had to write and wrote an essay for it, then wrote another essay when I returned, and thank you letters. For any spending money that I needed, I used my own earned money from my savings account that I promised myself I wouldn’t withdraw from. Not to mention the fact that I was completely cheap on the trip, buying only a few postcards, a little food, bus fare, and one thing at a fair/flea market type thing. Yes, he paid for my passport and two phone cards that didn’t even work, but, being my parent, he’s supposed to! And still, he keeps going on and on…“I let you use my phone that I pay for…” I only call local, which doesn’t add anything to the set monthly bill, not to mention it has call waiting, so he wont miss a call, and I don’t use it that often. “I let you use my computer…” It’s his work’s computer that he doesn’t even use, nor does he have to pay anything for it. “I let you use my internet…” Since he got rid of the Charter Cable line, it’s wired through his work, which is again, at no cost to him…not to mention that because it goes through the work’s server, all chat programs and game sites are blocked, along with most email, so all that I can do is blog, my last living connection to friends while I’m out of school, he wont let me call long distance. [“Write them letters…” Who the fuck writes letters, not to mention that anything that I talk about with friends isn’t exactly anything that would make any sense in letter format…] “Watch my t.v…” Again, a set monthly bill, no added cost if I watch or if no one watches…So to go with his argument…he spends money for me…gee, thanks, Dad. That’s exactly all that fathers are for. Of course I don’t need any of that love and praise stuff… Not to mention the totally cliché “nothing’s good enough for him” thing, but it’s so true. Not even god damned straight A’s are good enough, not even honors courses or anything. “Oh, so Mai-anh’s up a section in math? Why aren’t you?” So I’m not a fucking super genious, but it’s not as if I’m not trying. He’s also been calling me fat all vacation…gee, thanks, it’s not as if I already have enough social pressures as it is, but make me feel obese! I’m only in the 25th percentile for weight, which means if you had 16 girls my age in a room, and were to pick out the four thinnest, you’d pick me and 3 others.,..I don’t think I’m doing too bad…way to make your daughter anorexic! “Well, I’m only being honest,” he says. Then, “Why don’t you play piano more often? You should take more private lessons next year.” Sure, I can do that on top of all my school work and sports everyday, not to mention choir, theatre, and the literary arts magazine… And I get yelled at anytime I’m not helping him with whatever manual labor task he has going on, even if I’m studying or reading, which according to him, I don’t do enough of either…There are other things in life besides work, things that make life worth living. Take those away, and I might as well, kill myself. So this morning, I get up when he asks me to [because I’m such a deep sleeper that an alarm or something has to wake me, or else I just wont awaken till mid afternoon] and I go make myself something to eat for breakfast. As I start eating, he comes in and yells at me. “You wanna sleep so late, you missed breakfast! I don’t care, I need help.” Well, you woke me up late. If I’m tired, I’m going to sleep. Too Damn Bad. You know, yelling, punishing, and threatening are no ways to make me want to help you. Not to mention, things you shouldn’t be doing when someone hasn’t done anything wrong. And I do help him, I’ve been helping since I came home from school. [with the exception of the time I spent out of the country] I help whenever he asks. But I draw the line when he starts getting all frustrated and verbal. I’ll help you if you treat me well, not if you curse around like an ass. And he always pulls that “pity me” bullshit lecture…“I work so hard for this family…” yadda yadda yadda. I’m sick of hearing it. Yes, you work hard, but we work just as hard, and maybe nobody would have to work so hard if you didn’t blow all of your money on Heinekins and pot. Now, I’m no doctor, but 8 or more beers a day can’t be healthy. I wouldn’t mind either so much if he wouldn’t bitch about money. My parents both work two jobs. Not to mention how hard it is to be a housewife, but, two jobs and housework, and groceries, and cooking, and my little brat of a sister, and laundry, and vacuuming, and cleaning up 24-7. And getting no thank you’s for it. And this is especially hard for the wife of an alchoholic, especially since she’s emotionally unstable and a manic depressive who was abused as a child. What a wonderful life, eh? I don’t know why my dad’s so weird. Maybe it’s because he was adopted, or maybe because his adoption father died when he was 2. But his mom, my gramma, must’ve been a phenomenal mother. I don’t know how he became so screwed up. But as much as I sometimes feel like I hate him, I don’t, really. I pity him, I really do. He always feels so under-appreciated for what he does right and all the work he does. And he does work hard. If we ever left him, he’d be so crushed, I don’t know what he’d do. Granted, we’d be nowhere without him, but that’s just financially. But he really would be nowhere, he doesn’t have many friends or close family members besides us. So I pity him. He’s a smart man, and he should be much better off, but he wastes his money on beer, simple as that… But it still doesn’t give him the right to be an asshole. He needs to be more thankful. How many girls have to work with hammers and nails, oil and engine parts, power-sanders and paint, weed-killer and lawn limestone, climbing ladders and shingling roofs? Not many. I’m young and youth only comes once. I don’t want to waste it! Don’t over work me and don’t threaten me to help you, swallow your pride and ask nicely. posted by Shannon | 1:37 AM |
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