My father, the prick
April 28, 2003 @ 9:23 a.m.
Well. The inevitable has occurred. My father tried to move into my family's cabin yesterday.
This wouldn't be such a problem, unless you knew that my father's a worthless excuse for a person, an alcoholic, consumed in himself. He wanted my mother to pay him $20,000 for "his half" of the cabin. She wouldn't. So he decided, because he had nowhere else to go, that he would move in there.
Live off the electricity my mother pays for.
Live off the gas we use for our water heater.
Live off the water my mother pays for.
Live in the place he hasn't contributed a dime to in ten years.
He thought he could. When my mother, my brother, and I arrived, he was installing the pump.
We were alerted by our neighbors down in the little-cul-de-sac where our cabin is. Pat, the lady who called my aunt Marisue (who in turn called us), said that my father has some scruffy-looking man had been working on our pump for about four hours now, and that they had already been drinking.
The calvary had already arrived when we had: my aunt Marisue and her husband, Larry, Marisue's daughter, Ashley; my aunt Colleen, my uncle Tom, and their two boys, Jonathan and Benjamin; Tom, Pat, Marcia, and Deb, all from their respective cabins.
They all glared at my father, and he glared back. We gathered in groups, spoke softly. Marcia hugged me and my brother and said "I love you" countless times to us, as she was a little tipsy (per usual). My father got the pump working, glared again, and left with Scruffy in tow.
Yesterday we moved everything out of the cabin that was solely my mother's or had been purchased by anyone other than him. This meant beds. This meant couches. This meant lamps and pillows and a refrigerator.
This meant curtains off the windows.
And the women stood inside and clucked their tongues and cursed my father. I listened to them, fairly embarrassed.
I hoped my father would die soon.
My mother cried, and I wanted to kill the person that hurt her. I could not fix it. I always think I can fix it and I cannot fix this. He will not stop. He has nowhere to go. He has nothing to lose.
I'm tired of talking about it. I don't want to talk about it any more.
Just sort of...
I don't know.
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- - March 22, 2010
always the same - July 01, 2008
b-a-n-a-n-a-s! - December 25, 2006
elementary again - October 29, 2006
I don't like you, but I love you - October 03, 2006