knowing too much

Just fyi: this blog should be properly started off with a long deep sigh that turns into a moan/groan complaint.

So, it's tuesday night. I should be off work but it's the grand opening of the Bourbon Street HideAway and my boss anticipates me having the overfly upstairs in C.Street. I hope she's right. I'm giving up book club this week for it. And it could possibly be a good night there as Jason is back in town. But, duty calls. Well, more specifically, my bank account and bill collectors call. So off I go.

I haven't blogged for a few days. I've hit a wall. Bit off more than I can chew. Played with fire. Whatever the chiche. Here I am. Sinking lower & lower.

My previous blog was about my ever fun relationship with my dad. He stood me up all week. I had to be the bigger person & call him on Sunday to demand an explanation. The agony was getting to me. Needless to say, we came to our boiling points right there on the phone. I was in tears. Pacing the floor with the phone pressed to my ear. Inside my head, I want to shut the phone, walk outside, and just forget he ever existed. I wanted to scream at him. I forced myself to remain calm & in a shaky, unsteady voice that didn't even sound like my own, I told him off. I told him what I was thinking in as much of a rational, non-accusational, non-judgemental as I could muster.

*silence*

He mutters that what I'm saying is untrue. That he always told everyone how proud he was of me & didn't understand how I managed to pull off such a worthy life.

Tells everyone else. NOT ME. What he tells me is how lousy I am. How rotten my choices have been. How I will regret my life when I am his age looking back at my past.

Can you believe he had the nerve to tell me this: "I know that you and Chris (my half brother who pretty much has the same relationship with dad) are nice to my face, but deep down you are calling me a bastard for not ever being there."

I was shocked. Like all I have to do in my life is sit and throw pity parties for what I didn't get. What I may think someone cheated me of. What kind of bullshit is that? Obviously, he doesn't know ME. And I told him exactly that.

So, long story short, he has to deal with his own demons. His own choices. He hasn't forgiven himself and in turn, assumes that I haven't either.

The next morning he shows up unannounced at my house. I clench my teeth but smile, wondering if anything I said actually got through to him. We did the usual: drive to pick up something to eat, sit in vehicle, eat & argue.

But this time it was different. My maturity combines with his new understanding, we argue in a chit-chatting getting-to-know each other way. It's quite nice actually. He's astounded at my astute clarity & directness (which he automatically takes credit for, go dad). Normally I'm rushing to get home (usually I end up leaving him wherever we are & just walk home, or ride home in complete & utter silence so mad that I could scratch the eyes off of a stone sphynx). This time, I wanted to stay & talk. It was revolutionary. Our epiphany. Together.

He wants to know why I made some of the choices I've made. How many times do I have to hear this from someone. "Make me understand why you would do this."

I CAN'T make you understand. If you don't get it, you just never will. We are different people. Just accept it.

Just accept me. As I accept you. For who you are. As you are. No judgements.

Please.