I walked out on my dad tonight.
I couldn't, at least for this night, deal with listening to him complain any more.
I feel like I'm 40.
I have to button his shirts for him.
I can't count the number of times I day I'm called on to provide assistance.
Sometimes he thanks me for it.
Sometimes he doesn't.
Most of the time, I don't remember one way or the other.
I'm hairs' breadth away from being treated, outright, like help.
Tonight, when the call for help came, I just...snapped.
I punched a nearby wall hard enough to leave a small dent in it.
I did what he asked me to.
Then I left.
I returned some time later, and was offered a weak apology.
I don't know for how much longer I can do this.
|Date:||July 30th, 2003 11:29 am (UTC)|| |
Grumble grumble, I wish there was something I could do to help. Some sort of 'fixit' spell. Whatever I can, I will, if you just tell me what. I don't like to see my favorite people in trouble. -d