October 01, 2007
The ex, religion, and my dad.
Last night I stayed up talking to Joshua (and playing Backgammon) until almost 4:00 a.m. When I went to bed I was so tired that I think I fell asleep before my eyes were even closed. That's really rare for me. I thought I would wake up really grumpy, but apparently going to bed with him on my mind means I wake up with him on my mind, and how can I be in a bad mood then?
My mood was temporarily spoiled, however, by a visit from the Tard. He had come to collect his digital camera which I've had for the last several months. It's the only thing he had on me, his only reason to call and bug me, and I decided it was best to just give it back.
He came to my job freshly showered and shaved with a recent hair cut. I'm sure he thought he looked good. (He even had an earring in his big fat ear.) I gave him the camera and went back to doing my work, thinking he'd get the hint and leave.
Nooooo, he's clueless. He wanted to talk. What time was I going to lunch? Did I want to have lunch with him? How have I been? Blah blah blah.
Ummm, hello? Why are you still here?
I told him I had plans for lunch, but thanks, and that I've been really good. He wanted to tell me about crashing his four-wheeler (MY four-wheeler!), and about the huge wound he now has on his leg that won't heal.
He's exactly the same as he was three years ago. He's exactly the same as he was six months ago. He's still an asshole. Only now, he realizes I wasn't so bad after all, and he really misses me in his life.
Oh. fucking. well. Sorry buddy. I'm so over it.
I really wanted to be mean to him, but I was raised better than that, so I was polite. When I realized he wasn't ever going to shut up, I told him I had some things to do in the back and, sorry, I had to go.
I made a point to not come out from behind the counter, because I was not going to let him put his big meaty paws on me. He left frustrated (I guess that's what he was, he peeled out when he left.)...and I was satisfied.
I can't believe how clueless some people are. This is the same man that slapped the shit out of me just a few months ago, and now he wants to chat like we're best friends.
Anyway, moving along.
I wonder how wrong it is that the daughter of a preacher has been thinking about the existence of Christ. I mean, I had this thought today: what if it's just another fable that has been fed to generation after generation, and we're all too scared to question whether it's real or not because, damn, we'll burn in hell if we don't believe. Seriously, it's the biggest catch-22 in the history of mankind.
I want to believe. I've believed all my life. But when I see people killing themselves for their religious beliefs...I have to wonder if it's some form of insanity. Organized religion just might be some sort of mass hysteria.
My dad would probably disown me for that.
On Sunday he called me to see how I was doing. (Between the lines that means he was calling to see if I had gone to church.) He's anxious for me to move out on my own, and was asking how I was progressing. I said things were fine.
"I just want to see you out on your own and get your life straightened out." he says. "I'm not saying she's a bad influence on you (my roommate, or that you're a bad influence on her, but I'd like to see you living right."
So I asked him, "By 'getting my life straightened out' do you mean going to church?"
"Yes. Well, and living for God."
Okay then. "I see." I said.
"But I love you, and I'm not judging you, okay?" he asks.
"Okay daddy."
Of course he's judging me. The man used to be a preacher.Judgement is in his blood.
I already don't talk to my mom, the thought of cutting off my dad...hurts. I won't do it. He's not in great health, I don't expect he'll live another ten years. I don't want to fight or disagree with him.
I just have to remind myself that this is what parents do. Right?
Yay for October, and cooler weather!
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jktty at 9:30 p.m.