Class is in session. I’m doing everything that I can to stay calm, but something about work and school runs me down. Also I think that I had a virus or some other thing from Seattle until last weekend. All of a sudden I just felt better — so much so that I haven’t been able to sleep.
Well, that — and I keep hearing over and over again in my head the things my dad said this last summer when I asked for help getting my finances straight:
“How do I know that you’re gonna follow through with it this time?” he asked. He meant school. The last time that I dropped out of college was ten years ago.
I know that my dad is a royal ass and that I should just ignore him when he says stupid shit. He is just a worm drilling into my skull.
There is a large part of me that maintains that I should have simply put on my Good Son persona and lied to him through the whole phone call.
“Oh yeah, I’ve just been busy, we should really get together.”
I just couldn’t do it. Yes, it was a time of critical need, but I was blindingly angry. The world was spinning as I held my tongue. When I trickled out the truth the sluice gates swung open of their own accord and those few drops raged into a river of vitriol.
Three years and almost 120 credits into it, school is still hard — not challenging: hard, like sewing a wound on your own leg closed. I don’t do it because I have anything to prove — it’s just the tough Norwegian side of me. My dad will probably try to dissemble later:
“I just wanted to challenge you.”
Fuck that. I challenge him to apologize for being a jobless alcoholic and addict for the first nine years of my life, and not having an excuse for being absent from the next twenty-three, including the two where I lived with him.
There. Maybe with that off my chest I can write again.