Oh my god. I just outdid myself. I worked like a dog in the yard. Came in the house and realized that it was time for The D's din din. Heated up homemade soup. And buttermilk cornbread. Fixed a bowl of fresh blueberries and sliced some strawberries. Microwaved some leftover, homemade mashed potatoes. Put it on the tray. Asked if he wanted milk. He always does.
I put the milk away and checked on him. He was agitated. He needed a napkin. I can't even go there.
Nothing is good enough. Ever. I am so ready for five blissful days away from this purgatory of my life. Sure, he's 79 years old. Lost his wife 8 months ago. But I lost my mother. And I'm stuck with my dad. And he's not the nicest person in the world. But I owe my genetic makeup to him. And that makes me patient. Because, ultimately, I like my genes. He's smart, but uneducated. He never had a chance. I don't want to get into details, but he didn't have a childhood.
That's enough. He's a child now. I'm his parent. I'm a much better mother than the one who pushed him out of her birth canal. I comfort myself with that. I fail kiddo. But there's redemption with The Daddler. If only because I honor my mother every time I'm tempted to retaliate but I resist.
Time for a shower. I miss Dude. But I have too much to do between now and Saturday morning. I need to avoid distraction. And he distracts me. He's smart that way. But I'm smarter. He'll figure that out one day.
I'm gonna check on The D. Run a hot bath. Paint my toe nails. Practice my guitar. Read my book. Do some watercoler. Or talk trash to FF. If he's lucky...
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