04 May 2024

I might not have turned into a blubbering mess over Dad’s bullshit last night, but I’m also still not okay. I ended up in bed after 1am and it was probably closer to 2am. I woke up between six and six-thirty and then could not go back to sleep. Somehow, I am still functioning. If you want to call it functioning. I just don’t fucking care.

My first delivery was nice: twelve dollars for a Panda Express. The second was shit: four dollars and some change for Wendy’s and I had to drive to Duson. I’m back in Lafayette right now and sitting in their library on Johnston Street.

(Why do they call it a street? It’s practically a fucking highway. Well. Technically it IS a highway.)

Funnily enough, there was all sorts of shit on the map and when I clicked out of active status, the app fussed at me because it was a “busy time” with “lots of orders.” Okay so when were you going to send me any. I must have gone ten minutes at least with nada. Maybe I’ll try again today and maybe I won’t. I’m seriously considering getting those grilled Chick-Fil-A nuggets with their crispy kale because I forgot to set out meat last night to thaw.

Still got that feeling of basic unreality over Dad’s rant yesterday and I wanted to share more thoughts about that.

First off, I think he ranted about me buying things — he was kind of slurry but I think he went there — because clearly I had to have bought that glass dish with the lid. If he thinks I also bought food, I am not sure why — maybe he noticed the new broccoli and cauliflower bags in the freezer that both together cost me less than five bucks? Could be. Nothing else was out where he would have seen it. If I want to just get out the door without talking to him then that’s two meals I can take with me (and now some crunchy snacks) and they’re already in my room ready to go. Not like they would draw bugs. They’re sealed. So, unless he’s snooping around in my room — and that possibility is definitely not off the table; he goes into my room to turn off my lamp — there shouldn’t be anything to see.

(The lamp is an LED desk lamp. It burns almost no juice and if I get home when it’s getting dark, having that on is helpful. Does that stop him fucking with my stuff? Course not. He doesn’t even ask.)

But here we see his almost talismanic belief that if I never spend money then I will have a great retirement. He tells me I don’t understand how bad my situation is. I’m the one knowing IT DOES NOT FUCKING MATTER WHETHER I SAVE EVERY FUCKING PENNY BECAUSE I SHOULD HAVE STARTED SAVING FOR RETIREMENT THIRTY FUCKING YEARS AGO. IT IS TOO FUCKING LATE. I AM FUCKED. He makes this big deal out of me being fifty — how is it in any way dignified for a fifty-year-old woman’s father to be telling her how to deal with money and for her to never be able to buy anything? Bloody stupid man. And anyway, you don’t give someone that kind of financial advice without asking where they are financially FIRST. He’d have felt pretty stupid if I’d won the lottery without telling anyone and then it turned out I had a couple mil in the bank. Fuck. But he doesn’t want to know. He thinks he knows already.

He goes on and on about what perfect life choices he made after the Navy and conveniently overlooks that (1) he was an able-bodied man and not wholly responsible for any children, as I was grown and Doug was not with him for part of that time and when Doug did move down, Matilda or some other woman usually looked out for him. For free. (2) As an able-bodied man he had access to blue-collar work that paid very well for the area. (3) He tells me it was desk work, which is even more insulting. If I do desk work in a hospital I get just above minimum wage; if he does desk work on a fucking boat then he’s giving ribeyes to all his fucking friends because he’s got money practically dropping out of his asshole. Guess which one of us is more useful to society in these scenarios. (4) He never had to get a job again after retiring from the Navy. All he had to do was scale back his lifestyle. And he did. It’s not my fault he decided he wanted more money than that. (5) He has TWO sources of income now. I have zero unless I’m delivering. If I do find a job it will pay LESS than he’s getting for doing NOTHING. I don’t care what he says he “earned,” that is still the truth. And you still see signs of stupidity, like the way he just bailed from Tennessee in 1992 and then just bailed from Louisiana in 2017, and the latter bail was even stupider because he had a nice place to live and now he basically lives in shit. I mean someone made a real effort with that trailer (it wasn’t Jodi; it was the previous owner, probably), but it still doesn’t stack up to the one he bought. And you know why he sold that one? Because Carrie got married. Bet me. That is a STUPID reason to give up everything. And then he went and injured himself taking his medication the wrong way. That’s how his kidneys started failing in the first place. Sure, Dad. You make THE BEST choices. Tremendous. Bigly.

Probably because we are too much alike, I pick up on his vibes pretty well and I know what he means by me “doing nothing.” He’ll pass by my room AT NIGHT and see me on my laptop or he will pass by my room AT NIGHT and see me playing games on my phone. It is AT NIGHT. When I would not be working anyway, unless by some miracle I pick up a night-shift job. What the fuck does he expect me to do AT NIGHT. I have no idea. But I can tell that my AT-NIGHT idleness pisses him off. Regardless of time of day, too, if I am even looking at something with a screen, it pisses him off. I can forget finishing that proofreading course here, because he will parse it as Doing Nothing. I could go to college by distance ed if I kept my Gold Pro status with Uber because free tuition to Arizona State is one of the perks, but I can’t do that in his house because it’s staring at a screen and thus Doing Nothing. I literally get paid monthly for writing essays on Substack, but if he sees me writing, I’m Doing Nothing. I want to draw portraits, but that is also Doing Nothing. If I tried to explain any of this to him, he would declare it bullshit and shut me down, too. He doesn’t like me crocheting or knitting, either. Fucked if I know why. That also happens AT NIGHT a great majority of the time. So: ALSO not Done Instead Of Working. There is no work. It is AT NIGHT.

Guess what he does all fucking day.

Watches TV. Or sleeps.

Yes, yes, I know. He’s “retired.” My screentime involves actual interaction with something and he’s sitting there letting a gigantic screen beam bullshit into his brain but I’m the bad one here. Fucking clown. He used to be a bookworm, and now he hardly does that either. He has ample opportunity to request library trips. He never does. He’d rather just sit.

And drink. And lie about quitting drinking. And drink some more.

I appreciate Doug trying to rescue me by negotiating my move back in with Dad but I really wish he would just relax. Doug’s life weirdnesses are at least partly his fault, yes. Dad’s bullshit is not Doug’s fault, and is a very large part of the reason he and Doug never had a good relationship. And it’s the same way with me. I said something the other day, maybe on Facebook, maybe also here, about Dad not liking me since day one and me not actually being a wanted child. I meant it. He treated me like I was a pain in the ass from day one. He has never let up. If we’ve been apart for a while he’s usually happy to see me again but that lasts maybe a month. Two if I’m lucky. This is supremely fucked up. I’m tired of it.

The only real drawback is I burned too many bridges in Ohio and I’m not sure what to do about that. But it’s time to start looking.

Library’s about to close. Gotta go.