I'm sick of your dreadful, speckled mug!
Okay, need to say this before I get in the car with him for four hours and say it to him, which would be a pretty mean-spirited act of filial impiety:
The thing I won't miss about being home is the fact that my Dad is...
-A morning person.
-A loud morning person.
-With a guitar.
-Who gets mad at you for spoiling his fun if you are less than enthusiastic about being serenaded at seven in the goddamned morning after writing all night for the fifth night in a row.
It's sick.
It's also bizarre, because my Dad's a good singer... usually. But either his tone and pitch get substantially worse along with his taste in songs at this hour, or I perceive them as such as a side effect of how bad I want to punch him when he does this and I just fucking want to sleep.
That's right. I long for the peace and quiet of a houseful of theatre majors and Cyrano the Spazzcat. Kill me now.
The thing I won't miss about being home is the fact that my Dad is...
-A morning person.
-A loud morning person.
-With a guitar.
-Who gets mad at you for spoiling his fun if you are less than enthusiastic about being serenaded at seven in the goddamned morning after writing all night for the fifth night in a row.
It's sick.
It's also bizarre, because my Dad's a good singer... usually. But either his tone and pitch get substantially worse along with his taste in songs at this hour, or I perceive them as such as a side effect of how bad I want to punch him when he does this and I just fucking want to sleep.
That's right. I long for the peace and quiet of a houseful of theatre majors and Cyrano the Spazzcat. Kill me now.