Friday, May 16, 2008

here I am again, the last 10 minutes of my work week remain and I can't focus any longer. I'm going to my dad's house today. it's his birthday, and he's turned 47. when I called him earlier he was sleeping, but I couldn't tell if the wilt in his voice was a result of being sleepy or drunk. or both. he rarely stays sober anymore. some days he's lucid, and others he's totally out of it. he asked, for instance, who I'm dating. I've been dating steven for 4 1/2 years now, dad. you remember him.

it's hard to recall a time when he wasn't so far gone. it wasn't long ago, but it really has been an entire transitional time-frame ago. I have gone to school, graduated, bought a new car, moved into my first apartment, and started my first real job in the time that he has ignored the life revolving around him. I dont think tony even bothers visiting him anymore. when did my dad stop being a dad?

I find myself surprised when someone follows through when they do something nice for me. is that normal? I remember with a lot of affection the day that my dad came home with a new tail light for me. things like that rarely happened: he sees a problem and can't fix it, so he finds another way. the end. no questions asked. how does that happen?

there is a level of accountability that I dont hold people to because who in my life has been held accountable? my mom divorced my dad, which shattered his world, and he never hit rock bottom. no, I take that back, he has completely hit rock bottom, but I think that he is finally somewhat comfortable in this world of pain in which he resides. it's as if it matches what he's felt his whole life, this personal hell. what else can you make of a person who was so alive and well not long ago?

I can't bring myself to think about him too often, because I see so much of my life in him - not the past, but the reality of the fact that he has eeked into every inch of my being. I've adopted methods of dating my dad, befriending my dad, feeling the inordinate amount of pain like my dad, reserving myself to the fact that I'll likely never be fully happy - like my dad.

my grandpa believes strongly in the power of the mind, that we decide how things affect us.

was his dad an alcoholic?

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