I called in sick to work today. I’ve got a cold, and I’m using it as a reason to catch up on resting.
Plan for the afternoon:
-Smoke a bowl.
-Take some advil.
-Drink some OJ
-Watch Werkmeister Harmonies, since I fell asleep the first time and missed basically all of it.
-Maybe go for a walk if it’s still nice out later. Otherwise watch Clerks and work on knitting.
-Go to bed around 6.
This is the best to-do list I’ve ever given myself!
I’ve been thinking about my dad a lot lately. If I never talk to him again, I would feel absolutely nothing. It wouldn’t be a change, or a declaration, but merely a commitment to the status quo. Not giving up, but letting go.
Fair warning: this is a long personal post full of feels that will likely bore most of you.
Like many kids, I spent my childhood trying to fit in to two different and changing households. Dad was more often than not a disappointment. He said he loved my brother and I and always treated us kindly. But he would be late, sometimes hours late, to pick us up for anything, or he didn’t show up at all. He spent the nights he had us playing hockey, and we were left to run around the skating rink alone. On weekends he fed us breakfast and then sent us outside to play on our own. He took us camping once a year, but other than that he never asked to see us outside scheduled visits
.
My memories from time spent at his place are great, but he isn’t in many of them.
I liked his ‘laissez-faire’ sort of parenting style. I think I’m a lot like my dad in some ways; quiet, forgetful, a little distant, relaxed, a bit secretive, with a tendency to keep important things inside. I’m sure he loved us, in his way, but I can’t help but resent him for not being there.
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