For the past few months my dad & I have been getting a long better. Well, better than previously. By that I mean, the arguements were just less frequent. More biweekly, instead of weekly. Once I think we even went almost four whole weeks without an arguement! I know, right? See, there isn't much fun in blogging if nothing exciting happens and everything is all happy fucking rainbows and shit. No one wants to read that boring bullshit. Hell, I don't want to WRITE that sappy, sugary crap.
Now, in the past, most of the arguements dad & I had were about something I'd done that he didn't like or approve of, that was also completely re-fucking-diculous. Like when I made dinner once, not thinking that he disliked tomatoes, chopped up tomatoes and put them in the dish. Fuck me, I forgot. I was following the assing recipe, and it slipped my God-fearing mind that he didn't like tomatoes.
Another time, yes recently, he forgot his cigarettes across the street at a friend's house & they'd left. Well he tried calling & I had to find the # in his phone, since he's not tech savvy, or tech anything, really. I found the number & he dialed it. Well it rang once then hung up. He got mad because I didn't remember the number & told him to press talk so it'd call the same number back. Well that's when he threw the phone at me. Really. Threw. Seriously.
So, after about 5 months of living with these peculiarities I have started becoming more aware of the warning signs of when the craziness is about to strike. Usually a few days beforehand, he'll ask me, on more than one occasion, "What is wrong with you?" or "Are you okay?" But in the kind of voice that isn't really sincere, but more accusitory. That's when I know, nothing is wrong with ME. Hehehe.
Never fail, this past Thursday, he asked me a few times, what was wrong w/me and if I was okay. Like I'm on fucking drugs or some bullshit. I don't know, maybe I had some things going on in my head at the time and he couldn't understand that I was thinking how bad I felt for the homeless couple sitting at the intersection, asking for help and I was considering pulling out a tenner and giving it to them? Or that when I put new batteries in the flashlight, and it still didn't work, I thought maybe it wasn't the batteries that was the problem, so I tried the old ones in a different flash light. Surprise, the batteries weren't dead.
Maybe my logic is too complex for some people to understand? Or maybe I think in wibbly wobbly patterns that differs from most? Who knows?
So anyway. We saw on the news that Friday night at 9:09, if you looked in the sky you could see the International Space Station float by. Dad wanted me to check the NASA website to make sure that was correct. As he was standing in front of me, while I was searching the laptop, he noticed that the boxed set of books on my table all had the word "Dead" in their titles.
I tried to explain that it was because they had vampires, werewolves, faries, and other things like that in the books.
Oh. My. Fucking. God.
He told me to get rid of the books. Simple as that. Without batting an eye, "I don't want those in my house." Um, what? I JUST bought the 7 book series set of Charlaine Harris's Sookie Stackhouse Novels, which is what the HBO series, "True Blood" is based on. I spent $35 for these books and wasn't going to throw them away. I told him so. He argued with me.
I tried to explain to him that they were fictional novels, just a first person narrative about the life of a cocktail waitress or barmaid as Sookie refers to herself so often. Yeah, he didn't care. He left me alone the rest of the night, and I hoped *hoped* that would be the end of it. HAHAHAHAHAHA!
The next day, it started right back up. Only this time, the arguement was bigger. Yeah, not only did he not want the books in his house, he didn't want me reading those kinds of books and if I did, he wanted me to leave. Seriously. Because he claimed the books were evil, a darkness that throws off the balance of good and good spirits in the house. (I hope he never looks at my DVD collection or the Harry Potter books I have in my bookshelf or the box of Tarot cards I have, but never figured out how to work!)
While I sat there, basically being accused of being evil, narrowminded, gullible, and selfish, I thought. I thought maybe if I just make him think he's won and agree to get the books out of the house, he'll drop all of this nonsensical bullshit. Nope.
Even though I told him I would take the books to a friend's house, who also likes them, he said the problem was me. Aww, you shouldn't say such sweet things to me! No matter how much explaining I tried to do, he didn't get it. He used the most asinine analogies EVER that made NO SENSE whatsoever. I didn't help by adding fuel to the fire, asking if he had an approved list of TV shows and movies I could watch.
He walked outside, and I grabbed my books then left. I was gone for about 4 hours. I drove around. Dropped of a book that was almost due back at the library, then visited my friend. She and I talked about how silly it was that my dad and I were arguing about BOOKS. Silly, fictional books.
I left all but one book with her. Well I haven't read it yet! I came home and he seemed okay. Usually when he's mad at me, he won't eat dinner with me, or eat what I fix for dinner by saying he's not hungry. This time was different. He didn't seem mad at me anymore. Hmm. That's strange. I thought it was a trap at first, but then he told me he had a weird strange feeling and was dizzy but then snapped out of it. It's hard to explain the episodes he tells me he has, so just imagine with me that it was something weird that scared him a little. :)
Kind of weird that happened, since while driving around, I asked for a sign. Some kind of sign to prove that either I was wrong and should listen to him about silly fictional books and it was sinful to read them, or a sign to show I was right and it's no big deal, they are just silly books that aren't real and have no influence over my general principles or way of life. Since nothing strange happened to me, I win.
Even thought I knew in my soul there wasn't anything wrong with the books I was reading for entertainment purposes, I drove by several churches, suppressing the urge to go in and ask the preacher or minister or whoever, if I was sinning against God by reading fictional books for the enjoyment and imagination. No kidding.
I hate doubting myself. Shit, it's not like I was out killing kittens and running down grannies in the WalMart parking lot. I was just reading books. Who's parent gets mad at their child for reading? Not like it was instructional books on how to be a sociopath. I wonder if they have those at my library?
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