can you see the real me?
07.28.03 @ 11:27 p.m.
It's amazing how some people have the ability to cheer you up at random. Slavik just IM'd me about the ambiguity of a pair of sentences in my AIM profile. "Fucking Pete Townshend. I'm blown away." This was positive, it was my minireview of Psychoderelict, written just after I got the album. It's really nice to talk to him again. Actually, I talked to him a bit this afternoon about guitars and that was good, too.
And now I get to be sad because he's leaving for New York in September.
I really needed the cheering up tonight. I was crying a bit when he IM'd. It was a really pleasant surprise. My night was pretty damn awful because my dad got really drunk and maudlin. It would seem that tonight is the thirtieth anniversary of my dad's first marriage (which, obviously, did not go well).
Also, if I never hear another thing about fucking Seabiscuit, I could possibly die happy. My father is obsessed with that goddamn horse. (Would I have this antipathy for it otherwise? Possibly... I react negatively to over-hyped things, which is why I resisted Harry Potter for such a long time.) Add to that that he kept comparing the stupid horse to himself and Billy, our top German Shepherd. Goddamn. It was annoying and horrible to listen to beyond all reason.
Anyone who's been reading this a while knows how very much I hate it when my dad drinks. I have to wonder if my perception or his behavior is the thing that's changed. I worry a lot because both sides of my family are genetically predisposed to alcoholism and watching my dad ramble on in his idiotic and annoying fashion just makes me more determined to stay straight-edge in the face of my upcoming (December) 21st birthday. He says "I'm going to take you out and get you drunk," and I think "The fuck you are." I won't. I just won't. I don't want to get completely drunk ever. I'm terrified of losing control of myself for one. Well, not terrified, but I don't know if there's any thought more distasteful to me than making a fool out of myself, which is either the source or a byproduct of my social anxiety.
One of the most infuriating things about this evening were the gratuitous attempts to draw me into the conversation or connect to me by mentioning Pete Townshend. Hasn't this man been around me long enough to know that I get mad and disgusted when people (mostly him) take something I love and pretend knowlege or interest. I know he doesn't fucking care about Pete Townshend. I cannot honestly believe that he's that impressed by the Who. Not the way I am, that's definite, but... eugh. It was so transparent. He was going on about the miracle of life and human existance. ("It's the greatest miracle in the universe..." which made me want to say "Isn't that pretentious? What about the possibility of life elsewhere in the universe? What about the god you keep fucking rambling about? Eh? What about that?")
Did I mention the goddamn horse? Because he kept coming up in the one sided conversation that went on a mere two hours ago in our kitchen. Compared to every damn thing you could think of.
At a few points he was downright insulting to me until I called him on it, saying I wasn't likely to want to continue to patiently listen to him if he was going to be insulting. His ungrateful kids. Boo hoo hoo. His first marriage. No one appreciates him, no one really knows him. Get a fucking grip, dude. I think almost everyone thinks that know one REALLY knows them. I know I feel that way all the time. I think I come the closest to being completely honest about myself here because there's some kind of safe anonymity here. I don't worry about people I know changing their opinion of me for stating my honest thoughts. I might as well be flinging my words into the void, but there are other aspects of this kind of thing that are good. It's nice to find validation (oh, dreaded buzzwords -- who really knows what they mean when they throw them about?) and kindred spirits here. How would I get to talk to and read the words of people like Candace and Liz and all the other diaries and blogs I read. It's a fascinating insight into the lives and thoughts of other people, too. It's almost like therapy, to be able to feel like you're safely confiding hopes and fears. And perhaps I'm not COMPLETELY honest here, but I am as much as I feel like I can. More than anywhere else. Things like... I feel silly admitting that I still fondly think of Who Boy Nick even though I kind of doubt I'll ever see him again.
I'm lonely and sad right now and just generally depressed. I've been okay for most of the summer, but dealing with all my dad's stupid shit has brought me down into all the things I haven't much been thinking about lately.
Now let's see if I can find the email address of the guy in the local school district who might have a job for me. Goodnight.
(The title song is from the Who's Quadrophenia album.)
Previously
fuck it @ 08.01.05
fanciful imaginary sea voyages to come @ 07.20.05
*dies* @ 07.19.05
more ootp @ 07.17.05
harry potter: driving our children into devil worship @ 07.17.05
