|DIARY OF AN URBAN MILKMAID|
|Nice, nice weekend.
Friday evening, a female co-worker and I went to Barnes & Noble to look at guys, talk and drink coffee. Not too many guys, but it was fun and the coffee was good - so that was different for me.
Saturday, the kidlet had some girlfriends over to watch "The Ring" and eat pizza. That went very well. She has some very nice girlfriends and that makes me happy.
Sunday, we did more pre-dog stuff. She went to the pet store to buy doggie treats and doggie toys - while I shopped at Mervyns. I got her two pairs of crop-jeans, two shirts, and two pairs of shoes for $100. THAT was a great shop!
Everything was groovy - the kidlet was feeling good for once - happy and looking forward to the future. She had decided to write her father a letter, instead of calling him on the phone. She typed out a two-pager, which I will excerpt here: Dear Dad,
If you love me, you wil read this entire letter. I have chosen the liberty of writing a note rather than speaking, for the purpose of not being interrupted or straying from the point due to nager and irritation.
I'd like to start out by saying that you are my father, but I am your daughter. I've loved you all my life, which makes it hard to suddenly hate you by your complete evil status. I don't understand why you did this, but now I don't want to know. I'm tired.
Dad, I don't know if anyone's ever told you this before, but you have a denial problem. You do not like anyone or anything saying something so small as to disagree with you, or they're automatically wrong. It wasn't a problem before, I just shrugged and let it go, but it's gone too far. You either yell, interrupt, or make up words to explain to someone WHY they're completely out of their minds. Forgive me, but that's bullshit! You have to be wrong about some things - that's how life works. And I understand that, and so does mom.
Speaking of, I'd like you to kindly understand that I have my own opinions. I am also completely entitled to them, and have the rights to speak them to whomever I want. I have done research, and I found out that if a teen is over the age of fourteen, he/she has rights. I may not be able to vote, but I can speak, and I am an equal. I even prove to be one in crowds. People love me, and even you used to. I find things out on my own. I'm not a moron kindergartner. So here's this: MY MOTHER IS NOT MY MIND! She barely says ANYTHING to me except agrees with my very thought out opinions. In fact, she ENCOURAGES me to see you, but I choose not to.
You said I embarrased you? Well sorry to break it to you dad, but you're the only one! In fact, I get along better with adults than teens, due to my expressed views. You want me to have your views, which I won't......
This is not about you, dad. This is about me, about my feelings and trying to put my life back on track. Your personality is too matched with mine; too hyper and far out. That's great at times, exactly what I need almost, bu tright now it's a little to hard to deal with. And you won't admit that. In fact, all you've wanted from the beginning was for me to snap out of it and make everyone else happy. What about me?! HUH?! I needed space, I needed time, I needed LOVE. You gave me the opposite. I realized you only wanted everything for yourself. You haven't tried to help me at all in the biggest crisis of my life, because once again you deny that it exists. I have trained professionals telling me that it does. You can't beat that. You're not a psychiatrist. Neither is mom, she knows that - that's why she took me to one. You didn't even pick up a book. All you did was whine about me getting better, not even for my sake, but for yours and your critical family.
Mom hasn't done anything. It's my fault, and I intend to keep it that way. I will not speak to you on the phone nor see you for a TIME -not forever, but a time. I just need some space. Some time to think and regroup my strength, to get my mind exercised into believing you're not my worst enemy any more. If you agree to this dad, it will give you a better chance at seeing me quicker, because you DID agree. Giving me time would mean that you love me and can sacrifice some of your ego to letting me get better without seeing or speaking with me. It's not that I hate you, I just can't deal with you right now. When I'm ready, I'll write you another note. Thank you for listening.
She wanted to send this to him, but we don't have his address. I called and left him a voicemail to let him know she had written him a note, and would he leave his address on our voicemail. He voicemailed me back, that I was to have her call him, as we had agreed (which I never agreed, by the way) - because he didn't want to have "policy dictated" to him...
What an asshole. Oh, and she ain't calling him if she doesn't want to.
|Buh Bye! |
October 05, 2008
Be Afraid, People.... Really Afraid
One Last Bitchfest for the Road
Get the Popcorn Ready
I'm a Rich Ho-Bag
|Marriage is love.|