stream-of-consciousness quickies

Interesting Saturday night. On a lotta fronts.

Also, I may have gotten this flu everyone's been talkin' about. Yippee.

COE was that rare example where deviations from Shakespeare text or... ahem... other "liberties" were taken (y'know, basically everything that I hate about the average Michael Kahn-directed Shakespeare play... ok, I'm exaggerating... but not much), but I still loved it. Wonderful, as expected. Sehr amusing.

Alan, you make me cry, and I mean that in the most loving way possible. Which is to say, there is none.

Seeing certain people was alternately shocking, disconcerting, mellowing, and finally ok. Initial heart-pounding unease aside, it was all good. Really. It was nice after I cooled down.

However, I was afterward in not the greatest position when my father called and started to play another game, this time actually laying out all-out threats. "This is going to be bad, John. For you." And I... snapped. Utterly. I said things, things that cannot be unsaid. Did I mean them? Of course I did. Do I regret saying them? God help me, I don't know. I don't know if I even should or not.

And when I think about it, I get so fucking hurt and scared and miserable and what's worse is I know I shouldn't be. I know I have the power, not him. Then why does it hurt so goddamn much? How can he still get to me after all this time? How can he still make me feel like the bad guy?

I don't want anybody to see me in such a position. Not even my closest friends or lovers, past and present included on both fronts. And just my luck, they were all there to see me in all my miserable, torn-apart glory!

More later. Maybe. Meantime, I'll be in bed, sick. And not just with the flu.

say it again

I will not call him. I will not call him. I will not call him. I will not call him. I will not call him. I will not call him. I will not call him. I am not going to give him the satisfaction. I'm going to wait for the fucker to call me.

I told him off for being a manipulative, drunken fuck who does nothing but stew and stew all day ("I'm sober right now," he said... God, how could I keep my temper after that? Does he think I'm ridiculously stupid?). He had the nerve to threaten me. Me. I am the single last person on this Earth who loves him, and all he can do is hate me for not giving a shit about him. And how do I not give a shit about him? I forget to call him up and say hi. Because my voice is the only thing that gives him joy anymore, it's what brightens his day. His day of drinking and listening to WAMU FM. Or just staring out into nothing.

He has no power over me. Gordon fronted Ma the money for my last college payment. If my father wants to revoke my inheritence, fine. He'll probably suck it dry anyway in medical costs, the way he's going. There isn't a damn thing he can do to me anymore. Hell, if this time he's so pissed off at me that we don't go back to business-as-usual as if nothing ever happened like we've done every time before... then hell, maybe I'll be free of him. If it ever happened, Lord knows it wouldn't have been easy or pretty.

Then why, for God's sake, does a part of me want to call him and make peace, one way or another? What the hell is wrong with me that I even feel like this is a big deal?! Goddamned stupid brainwashing childhood. I wish to God there was an Al-Anon meeting here for this, but there isn't. I checked.

I cannot call him. I must not call him. I will not call him.