Note to self: never go and see dad again. Especially around the holidays when emotions are high and dads are especially fucktardish.
The visit went as well as expected, ending with a teary-eyed me and a dumb-founded dad. Good. I thought I'd gotten him to cry, but he didn't. I don't think he can--it's hard to cry when you don't have a soul. While I think I should feel bad about the things I said (basically: I'm almost done with school, you dolt, and I'm going away forever, thanks for nothing. PS: you play favorites and I'm not it.), I don't. It was kind of therapeutic, really. In an, um, frustrating sort of way.
Again, though, I have peace of mind. Sigh.
Honestly, the ride to and from his place was more challenging than letting him in on how I feel. The roads suck. I almost slid through two stoplights and a stop-sign. A road commissioner laughed at me as I skidded through the stop sign. Fucker. Get more salt on the roads, dammit.
Have I mentioned how I hate winter driving?
And packing, for that matter. I'm getting ready to embark on the journey to the Keweenaw. I need to bring home too much stuff: all my sweaters, three pairs of shoes, all my hair shit, computer, scrapping shit......
I'm not kidding when I say that it's hard to be me sometimes, people.
Ciao, dahling!
~*Krissy*~