A Blast From the Past

Well, what happened today was entirely uncalled for.

Apart from the fact that I was working my third Saturday without a break longer than a day in between, and that I had to spend it with my least favourite co-worker, I also got talked into picking my mom up from my aunt’s. And instead of waiting for me outside, she made me come in.

See, when I was little, my aunt was about my favourite person in the world. I still love her to bits. But I haven’t really talked to her or visited her in years because I cannot tolerate the conversation that happens whenever I spend time with a member of that part of my family. Eventually, they always start talking about the past, sometimes even guilt-tripping me into the whole “Why have you never visited your grandma much? Now she’s gone and don’t you regret it?” Thing is – and yes, it sounds terrible – I just don’t. She and I never got along. Yes, for her and her beloved family members, it’s a bummer she’s dead. For me, I know that we both could have lived for a thousand year and we still wouldn’t have been better at dealing with each other. When I was five, I threw a tantrum once, as kids do. And she made me come back and formally apologise before she even looked at me again, like she was the damn Queen. So no, I don’t regret never having gone to see her again and no, I don’t think she does, either, wherever she is now.

Then, once I’ve gone through that talk for a while, the inevitable happens: We start talking about my father. Or, they do. I never respond much. A nod here and there, maybe a grunt. But my aunt is the kind of chatty person who doesn’t even notice what’s going on or that the other person isn’t really comfortable. So today, she just babbled on and on, without mercy. The worst part was when she started talking about the day I was born, about how happy and excited he was. Yeah, well, I think it’s safe to say that wore off quickly. By the time I was four or five, I don’t think I really thought of the guy as my dad anymore, not in any traditional sense. Sure, he’s her brother and they get along just fine, so I don’t expect her to lose a bad word about him. But does she have to glorify him in front of me? I haven’t talked to the guy in over a decade and he doesn’t give a damn, so I think I’m entitled to loathe him and blame him for everything that’s wrong in my life forever. Even if it’s stubborn and childish and I don’t even benefit from it much. I’m his daughter and it would have been my right to demand his unconditional love. But since I never got that, I know take the right to just hate his guts. And no, I do not want to know that he’s taken to fishing now. Or that he helps my aunt with her computer. Or whatever else he’s up to that’s so goddamn important and time-consuming that in ten fucking years, he never thought of his daughter or why she won’t call him anymore or what the hell went wrong. Let alone drop his damn guard and just come out and ask me about it. Not once. So I’m sorry if I don’t care about all of this stuff.

God, what a terrible, terrible day! And just what I needed. Because I’m not already emotionally unstable and constantly on the edge enough.

To quote one very wise Adam Lazzara:

To hell with you and all your friends, it’s on.

Categories: Me Myself and I | Tags: , , , | Leave a comment

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