My yesterday’s post concerning my anticipation anxiety (a fancy term for being preventively scared) about my father’s visit rose some questions. Such as, have I never met my father before? What’s wrong with my father? What’s wrong with me? What the fuck is it even all about?
Let’s start chronologically. I grew up with both my parents in what was then considered a perfectly normal family but would today be probably called dysfunctional (because today we have pretty terms for everything). I moved out when I was eighteen and then the whole of my family went crazy (that is, even crazier) and started suing each other for an assortment of reasons (also, I didn’t sue anyone because I couldn’t be bothered).
To skip the boring details, the result was that I lost touch with various family members for various lengths of time. The constellations are constantly changing and currently, no one talks with anyone else, except for me, who talks with everyone but tells no one that I talk with everyone. Totally straightforward.
I resumed contact with my father last year and we occasionally speak on the phone and rarely visit each other. His today’s visit was a social call and an opportunity to tell me in person that I piss him off, in case it was not clear. I can’t find a convenient label for my father, so let’s say that he’s difficult (to say the least). He is a rather offensive character too (either that, or I’m hypersensitive).
The father arrived while I was mid-way through my first morning cigarette and contemplating whether the situation is as extreme as to require administering Lexaurin or not. I didn’t get to either finish my cigarette or to come to a conclusion of my contemplation. Well, I let the old frail and ill person in (I have a fixed image in my mind of my parents when they were in their fifties and somehow can’t take it that they’re getting on their seventies these days).
I offered the usual soft beverages. Father replied I may just as well shove them up my ass unless I have rum. I unwisely admitted I had slivovitz, which he decided to have for breakfast. He consumed a considerable portion of my stock before his second wife arrived and put an end to it (he doesn’t have two wives, he remarried after divorcing my mother). There’s a reason why his liver is a goner. So, I was trying to maintain a conversation, which wasn’t too interesting, and I learned the following trivia:
- I piss my father off. (Old news.)
- I only cost my father money and nerves. (I guess so.)
- I should start growing my hair back because he won’t have me attend his funeral with my head half-shaved. He didn’t appreciate that I put on a hairband to hide my hair and no-hair. (I’m not fucking getting my hair grown even if it should be father’s last wish. Full stop.)
- I should avoid alcohol. (I agree.)
- I should quit smoking because I’m an idiot to smoke. (I agree.)
- I should pull myself and my life together. (Yes.)
Well, what an uneventful visit and waste of time, even. You asked for a picture of a sun if the visit goes alright, but I don’t remember what the sun is. I have a rough idea but I haven’t seen it for weeks. Instead, here’s a picture of fog. Close enough, no?