Mar 16, 2010 16:39
In that I'm mass-posting on my first day.
I'm thinking coffee
Maybe makes me feel like rambling to myself.
Things on my mind:
- Today is my Dad's birthday (47)
- Tomorrow is my sister's (19)
- I' m not quite at home with this journal just yet; not that I worry, but I have a nagging feeling I'm disappointing anonymous (and nonexistent) readers with my prolific pile of shit
--- I think this is coming out the way it has been because I'm breaking up between entry ideas, to keep the main page shorter than it has the potential to get, being how I am
May as well dig in, and keep going.
I had a mostly normal conversation with my dad, when I called him earlier. He tried to explain poker to me. I happened to mention that I have a bit of a knack for counting cards -- which, as far as I know is kind of a douche move in card games. "Well, you'd be good at poker, then!" was his thought. All I could think of was Isa and his casino addiction. He played smart to show me that he was capable of control, once, with the slots; I always hear stories of him blowing his government money there, plus some.
But -- Dad. Around him, I'm always super-aware of my oddness. I've always been the weird kid: refusing hugs, reading like a maniac, refusing help with my clothing situation in high school (preferring my oddball hand-me-downs to the high-priced thong-revolving ensembles my stepmom had in mind for me). I think that this mental break was where we really lost each other. He doesn't, and cannot relate to a life seeming so pointless and bizarre as mine. (And he doesn't even know the half of it.) What do you say to a guy who has lost all vigor for life via his choices, coming from someone who downs a handful of pills to keep from turning in to a little drooling lump?
What do you say to a guy who thinks I've been acting out 19+ years of mental disturbance as some kind of ploy for attention? I mentioned this subject to an uncle once, who holds a similar thought about me. Wouldn't I get sick of it sometime, in 19 years? No? Well hell -- give me an Oscar. That's some fucking serious attention to detail, and commitment to an unlikable role.
Sister: things with my sister seem somewhat better. Last we conversed (in person) we were rather relaxed. Last we conversed (online), I kind of rambled at her about the stalker. She got pretty freaked out. I demurred, hoping to segue on to something else; I don't need her going to Dad (with whom she lives now), telling him that I can't handle this stuff. I don't need to be pressured to move again.
I move almost yearly; I have for nigh 10 years. I don't need to move just now.
The stalker will either move on, or I'll do my best to beat the sonovbitch with my cast iron frying pan. The longer this stuff goes on, the more violent I feel inclined to be. I don't really lapse often in to realizing that someone who leaves splooge in my kitchen when I go check the mail.. is probably someone to fear. Most times, I'm either too blasé about it, or I'm feeling a little bit more vengeful.
I'm small, but I'm not gunna be pushed around. Especially not by some pussy little pervert asshole.
I will not take shit from someone trying to freak me out.
The doctor figures the reason I'm analyzing The Stalker, instead of panicking, is that I am of higher intelligence than usual. Is that so? Doesn't it seem stupid to be stubborn and irritable about someone who could inflict physical damage in a confrontation? My mind insists that if Stalker reveals himself casually, say -- in the hall, or something -- I will deck that bastard. I think I may actually try that. Break my fist, prolly.
But -- we speak of my sister.
Sister, as we will not be referring to her as -- instead, we'll go with D-land's nickname, 'Anni' -- will be having her baby rather soon. I'm making her a blanket. It will probably be done in a year from now. D-land is gone (it seems), so I'll restate that I'm iffy about kids, and am not sure of my usefulness as future aunt.
I want the kid to call me "Auntie Nutbar". It seems charming, in a misguided kind of way.
I keep having little flashes of what the kid could be like. Usually, I muse about him/her in different stages.. mostly the 10- parts. I had this little idea lately of getting a book of original Grimm's Fairytales, for when the kid gets old enough to handle something a little alternative. I bet around 7-8 he/she will be ready for the real ending to The Little Mermaid. Maybe? I would have been.
I want to think that the kid is a blank slate; I'm reminded of my brief introduction to babysitting. There's an infinite potential for growth and harm, taking care of a little kid. There's a potential that something I do or say, or show the kid, will seriously affect what they turn out like in later years. I don't know if I like that kind of power. Me, influential? Could be bad. Could be amazing. One never knows.
We'll have to see.
tuesday