I don’t know what it is lately but I hate the way my father breathes, eats, talks, and just about everything else about him. It’s what happens when you live with someone. I could understand it more if he wasn’t my dad. This is supposed to happen when you’re married not when you live with your dad.
I always remember when my best friend was done with a boyfriend. She would rather have cake or candy than sex (in her defense she always kind of liked cake or candy better to begin with), she would give him a death look while he chewed his food, and would go out of her way to not care. She was good at that part. I would laugh when she would call me and say “D, I’m going to punch his fargin face in if I have to watch him eat another sangwitch”. We had our own language of swear words and some regular word either from Johnny Dangerously or that we made up. Her older brother was an oddball like us and wrote songs. One of them was “Please don’t eat the urinal cake” Anyway it didn’t never took long for W to get rid of a boyfriend when she put her mind to it.
It is becoming harder to live with my dad. I have no other place to go. When I discussed it with my sister there was no offer from her. My dad has not done a Will yet and probably won’t. This will leave me in a bad situation. No doctor will sign off on me working because of my Kidney Disease and Mental Health. There are numerous other health issues that I won’t bore you with. My sister knows all of this. When I mentioned a shelter that I could probably go to if it came to it, my sister agreed with the idea. She has a bedroom they don’t use and her husband has a large mancave with it’s own bathroom. I wouldn’t want to interrupt the many hours he spends down there.
My twin sister would let me stay in a homeless shelter before inviting me to stay in her own home.
I picture myself living and dying like my Uncle Jimmy, homeless, cold, and alone. Hopefully without the Heroin addiction and HIV. I don’t really care where I’m buried but I would rather not go where they put the patients that died in the State run Mental Institution who no one claimed. There were hundreds of them, an alarmingly large amount while my Grandmother worked there as Head Nurse and my Grandfather as a Plumber for the State. I’ll try not to think about that because I’ve seen too many movies and have a vivid imagination.
Isolation, loneliness, and not using my vocal chords for long periods of time isn’t healthy. I need to do something about it and soon. The biting wind and 35 degree temps aren’t working for me anymore.
I’m thinking my vacation to Los Angeles is looking better and better. I admit that I have not checked out what the average temperature is in L.A. during December so this could change.