measi's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Mid-holiday Monday I've always been amused at the pointlessness of the few days between Christmas and New Years at work-- a few stragglers who didn't go anywhere-- for lack of interest, money, or vacation days left, let alone needing to get crap done when no one else is around. Our office is MAYBE half-full today. It's only 11:30 a.m., and I've managed to get the only really time-sensitive stuff done for the week, while having a jovial discussion with [erich] on email, plus chat with Tan about things in my last entry. I kept it locked when I wrote it on early Saturday morning because I've heard through the email grapevine of someone else making some catty (and expected) comments -- about a non-issue of mine that was just a kneejerk reaction when I arrived home -- in her own journal last week, and recent events are revealing some of the previously non-existant (or existant, but out of my sphere of awareness) "joys" that come with being the child of divorced (and remarried) parents. I've talked with Tan, JT, and Erich about it at length over 'ritas this weekend. Minarae and I also chatted about it a bit last night on AIM (thanks hon) before my computer crapped out on me and cut us off. Hearing different perspectives on it-- particularly from Tan and JT who *are* the parents and stepparents-- helped me do some considering of my own thoughts. Plus their reassurances of some of my dad's off-base remarks did cheer me up a lot. I'm starting to get a pretty good sense of my feelings that were stewing on the plane for six hours on Friday. I'm acknowledging them now. Trying to put them into some semblence of clarity. Because I need that before I can react to them and how I'm going to approach my father. I know a long letter will be involved. I want to be able to get all of my opinions out without interruption. I need to be able to say what I need to say, and not get flustered by his retorts. The man still strikes fear into me, and I would break in an instant if I were to call him to discuss it. Bottom line that occurred to me yesterday (as I was explaining to Tan this morning): My father had a shitfit (long-distance, granted) about my involvement with LGM for many years, often based on the way LGM was treating me. If I shouldn't tolerate the emotional pounding from a boyfriend, why should I have to tolerate it from my father? I'm not a teenager anymore. I'm not living with him. He doesn't support me. AND I'm 2,000 miles away from him. And the more I think about the events of the last week, I realize how my father doesn't know me at all. He has this image of me that is at least eight years out of date. That's what he keeps in his mind. He refuses to look past it. He hasn't bothered to really know who I am, and since our visits together in the past five years can be counted on one hand, none of which was over five days at a time, it's laughable how pathetic the whole situation is. As much as I hate to admit it, I'm agreeing with my brother: Scott and I are part of the previous family. It annoys me, but other than just be who I am, there's not a whole lot else I can do, nor that I'm willing to do right now when I have things in my life I want to do and change that I have the chance of changing. My father is someone who I have no chance of changing. Yet because it's my dad, I can't just shake the feelings away. I'm having those emotions rolling from one end of the spectrum to the other. JT made a remark on Saturday that was interesting-- the key is to develop such a strong relationship with your kids that the words "I'm disappointed" are more devastating and effective than, for example, other punishments. He's right. And my dad had that relationship with me. I spent the first 25 years of my life trying to live up to my dad's expectations and earn his approval. Somewhere shortly before I met Erich, I'd realized that not only was I wasting my time because I'd never live up to those standards, but he also would never care how much I killed myself to get that "I'm proud of you" statement that wasn't attached to some backhanded remark to ruin it (i.e. Thursday's "I'm proud of you, but I weep for you" remark). I wish I could give him a big "fuck you, Dad." But I can't. For the simple reason that it's not my style. Instead, I'm beginning a long-overdue part of my life where I'm living for me. It took me until age 26 to figure it out. I'm really only two years into that discovery. I'm pretty sure it will be a rocky road for me for most of my life, since my instinct tells me to run to Dad. Perhaps the nastiness of this visit home was one of the best things that could have happened to me, in a twisted sort of way. Because it made me realize this weekend how I really have changed since I left home. And that I shouldn't be embarrassed to feel proud of myself and who I've become. I'll whisper that "fuck you, Dad" a few times today and see if it grows on me. ;) 11:51 a.m. - 30 December 2002 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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