…and in the air there’s aftershave lotion in the wake of a snake bit Persian…

Ok, so I spent the whole day feeling guilty over all the bad things I thought about my mother on Friday.  :-\  Such is my life—but she *really* did try to be her worst.  Really.  I phoned her today and apologised, and she insisted that I admit that I misremember things.  Fine.  So I did.  I don’t even care anymore.  Whatever.  And I have to drive out to see my father again tomorrow, ‘cos Meg asked me to.  I don’t really mind; it will give me the chance to drop off some books to him.  Meg asked me to solely as a distraction—she is going to phone him to wish him a happy Father’s Day, but she doesn’t want him to know where she is, so she’s going to lie and tell him she has things to do, or doesn’t feel well, or something, and I am supposed to back her up on this, because he would *really* disapprove of what Meg is doing, and don’t you just know that, out of all of us, she’s the Golden Girl, and so she can’t tarnish the ol’ image there.  

Sheesh.

So then now *here’s* the deal:  Now I feel badly about going out to see my father—last weekend and tomorrow—because it will upset my mother further, and because I potentially have to lie for Meg, and I also feel badly because I also know that of all his children, he probably wants me out there the least.  So yay.  And don’t get the wrong idea—Father’s Day means little to him; he didn’t even want to *be* a father.  At least that’s the read I get—about the not caring, I mean; I know for a fact that he didn’t want to be a father.  And I always get stuck in the middle of everything; I haven’t done anything for him for Father’s Day since I was a child, and there’s a reason for that.  I don’t know; maybe he does care now that he’s older.  Who in the hell knows with him?

It seems that everything I do anymore just becomes *so* freaking involved anymore.  I guess that I should just shut up and be grateful that they are still around to pester me.  :-\  It’s only natural that my father is impossible to know or please, and my mother lives to hate him.  And so it goes.  

I’m becoming grumpy and bitter again.  Somebody kick me.



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