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nirix5Well. That was nothing if not fun. *dripping sarcasm here * Congratulations, you’ve just been witness to another patented Dad Temper Tantrum. Jesus Christ.
I love my dad very, very much, but he is such a fucking child sometimes. I don’t know exactly what happened, but it had something to do with Gilmore Girls, my mother and the mute button. Mom and Tess wanted to watch GG, and my dad wanted to tape the Elaine show, which pilots tonight or something. So he puts the TV on mute so he can read the manual to program the VCR. GG came back on and Tess wanted to unmute it, and he totally blew up. The whole thing ended with the remote getting thrown at the wall and shattering and my dad storming out. Motherfuck.
Now everyone’s all upset and I’m heading over to Tom’s.
The sad thing is that I’m used to this. My dad has to have complete silence in order to concentrate on anything, and then he tries to do three things at once so he gets mad and has an apaplactic shit fit. When I was little, it was signing your own death warrant to talk while he was on the phone. And my friends wonder why I’m so quiet. It’s more complicated than that, obviously, but every complex I have stems from his psycho behavior. Including the one where I think that all depression is bullshit, and shrinks are out to get you. So they can’t help me with it.
When I was little and he used to blow up at me over homework, I used to lie wedged down in the space between the top bunk and the wall and pretend that I was nothing, that I didn’t exist. I used to imagine that my mind was a white room, with no outstanding colors or textures. Think a hospital room at night, with a window.
Why the fuck am I writing this in a journal where everyone can read it? I never told anyone this, and I’m not gonna talk about it. Ever. Journals do strange things to you.
On the up and up, I fixed the remote.
Also, feel better,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nelys. Your mom has no fucking clue what she’s talking about.
Enough. Dad’s back and I’m leaving.
I love my dad very, very much, but he is such a fucking child sometimes. I don’t know exactly what happened, but it had something to do with Gilmore Girls, my mother and the mute button. Mom and Tess wanted to watch GG, and my dad wanted to tape the Elaine show, which pilots tonight or something. So he puts the TV on mute so he can read the manual to program the VCR. GG came back on and Tess wanted to unmute it, and he totally blew up. The whole thing ended with the remote getting thrown at the wall and shattering and my dad storming out. Motherfuck.
Now everyone’s all upset and I’m heading over to Tom’s.
The sad thing is that I’m used to this. My dad has to have complete silence in order to concentrate on anything, and then he tries to do three things at once so he gets mad and has an apaplactic shit fit. When I was little, it was signing your own death warrant to talk while he was on the phone. And my friends wonder why I’m so quiet. It’s more complicated than that, obviously, but every complex I have stems from his psycho behavior. Including the one where I think that all depression is bullshit, and shrinks are out to get you. So they can’t help me with it.
When I was little and he used to blow up at me over homework, I used to lie wedged down in the space between the top bunk and the wall and pretend that I was nothing, that I didn’t exist. I used to imagine that my mind was a white room, with no outstanding colors or textures. Think a hospital room at night, with a window.
Why the fuck am I writing this in a journal where everyone can read it? I never told anyone this, and I’m not gonna talk about it. Ever. Journals do strange things to you.
On the up and up, I fixed the remote.
Also, feel better,
nelys. Your mom has no fucking clue what she’s talking about. Enough. Dad’s back and I’m leaving.
