The Diary of Queen Mothy |
And It Continues... written @ 10:15 PM on October 22, 2004 I was sick all of fall break, as luck will have it. But I think I'm in the clear and won't expect to get sick for another five years or so. I got some things accomplished over break. For one, I learned how to fry an egg. I don't even like fried eggs. In fact, I hate fried eggs. But I was trying to do some photo illustration for my graphic design class. We were designing Earth Day posters as part of our unit of learning to convey messages strictly through graphics. So I painted an egg to look like the earth and fried it, with the headline, "Order Up." It really was a cynical, morbid idea, but my teacher called my work for this assignment "ingenius," even if she didn't fully understand the message. *shrugs* Fall break had it's moments of surrealism, to be sure. Dad took me out to dinner at a sports bar. A) He likes sports bars, and it provided an opportunity for my brother and him to debate who was going to win the game, the Yankees or the Sox, in an atmosphere that was relaxing to him. B) He needed the relaxed, distracting atmosphere to share some of his inner thoughts to me. Mind you, he was sober. Imagine, if you so choose, what followed. He turned to me and asked, all trace of humor gone from his voice, "How would you feel if I started dating again?" Suddenly my chicken sandwich was not so appetizing. I think I even pushed the plate from me and inhaled my Coke to stop the sickness in my stomach. I remembered the conversation my mom and I had back in July when Dad told me they were going through with the divorce. I assured Mom, "No woman will ever date him once they see his true colors. If she were smart, she would run. I don't know that he would ever." I think she and I would honestly like to see him suffer for a little while and mull over the pain he caused us. Only come to find that not even a month and a half after the legal papers went through he's still issuing emotional blows. I had a hard time responding. I think I managed a shrug. I had so much I wanted to say, but what I wanted to say would have caused such a scene in the middle of the restaurant that it would have risen above the din of the college football and baseball and basketball games. I think he interpreted my shrug as that of indifference rather than a struggle to come to terms with my dramatic vexation and flabberghasted silence. "I wanted to tell you," he said, "because I didn't want to run into you in a public place and have you be confused if you saw someone I might have been with." I wanted to ask if I was the one who should be hearing this and not my mother, perhaps? I think she would be ten times more shocked than me. Finally I blurted out, "Don't you think it's a little... soon?" AKA, why don't you wait for the goddamned ink to dry? "Sammy," he said, suddenly looking victimized, "it's been over a year since I moved out..." Fabulous excuse, don't you think? I was so angry that I felt he response didn't even merit a reply. The thing about me when I'm angry is, though, that I'm quiet and you don't know when I'm angry until you egg me on-- and then I'm a fucking volcano. Dad knows that; I think he's a little intimidated by my temper, or its capabilities. That's one little twisted power I do have: I have the power to hurt him with my words alone. Nothing my mother could say to him would hurt him as much as what I could utter. Because I'm his little girl. Some days it's a pity that I don't utilize this to everyone else's benefit, but I know that it's something I would later regret. I use it rarely. I try not to use it at all. Because I know if I told him my true thoughts, it would destroy him. I don't have any desire to destroy him like that; I don't hate anybody in this world. But I do believe in karma. I may be wrong about everything in regards to how well I think I know him, but I have faith that one day-- maybe not for many years from now-- he will understand what he's done. "How come you don't have a boyfriend?" he asked. For fear that one day I would be putting my own daughter through this, I thought. "Don't need one," I said. "I just wanted to tell you," he said, "so it can be our little secret. I don't want there to be secrets between us, you know. I wanted to share this. So... you know... the wrong ears don't hear of it." Like Mom, perhaps? I told him I wouldn't say anything to everyone. But now, dear reader, you know. And some friends know. Mom, however, does not know. I don't know if I should tell her. A part of me says she should know, that if I don't tell her the results will come back to haunt me later. Another part of me says she doesn't need to hear it because what good would it do? Thus, I am in a battle of ethics. Thus the rest of my week has been a little dark while I think about things, a lot of things, which has made me emotionally drained and tired, and questioning, as I always do, the bigger picture and the merits of choices. Plus it doesn't help that I've read the most depressing play of all time, Long Day's Journey Into Night by Eugene O'Neill. Ay carumba. Honestly, people, what the hell has happened with marriage in this country? At this rate, I say let the gays marry-- they have a better success rate and honor the sanctity of marriage better than straight couples. .... How I got from fried eggs to gay marriage, I will never figure out.
A Bit of History ~ And Onward! L'Amour Toujours! - August 08, 2005 |
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