*sighs*

What is it about my father? Is there something in his genetic makeup that demands he be an asshole?

Now, I know full well that at 30 years old one should be able to at least minimally support themselves. Fine, no problem. I know that at 30 years old, one should not really expect assistance from parental units. No problem.

But, where does it say... what unwritten, unspoken rule, dictates that my father has to be an asshole about financial matters?

I'm extremely excited about my trip to Dallas. I want to go and explore the place. I want to go to Gulf War and have a blast. I want to enjoy myself. I don't have all the money necessary to purchase my plane fare.

Not surprising. Specifically because in the past three days, the fare has risen a full 200 dollars. Impossible? No. Factual.

Regardless, we were sitting around this afternoon and Mom and I were talking about the trip out, packing, clothing, etc. Dad asked where I was going.

*blinks*

Um... excuse me... have you misplaced your brain today?

Okay, granted, maybe he's not really paying attention when I speak, no big deal. I'm used to that shit. But really...

So, I told him we were talking about my trip to Dallas. He asked when I was going.

*blinks*

Again, I write it off as a senile moment.

So I tell him, four and a half weeks. He asked if I had my ticket yet. I said no, that prices have risen by two hundred bucks in the past two days.

He shrugged it off.

Mom had told me earlier about a conversation she'd had with Dad where Dad was contemplating going to Vegas for a seminar type thing regarding his business. Fine, no sweat. Have fun.

While the three of us were conversing on the topic of my trip. (only four and a half weeks) Dad made some comment about money. I don't remember what it was, but I had responded with a joke, saying that he should donate to my ticket fund.

Gah, my voice was light and joking, my words were teasing even.

But did he laugh it off? nope.

Did he pause and think about possibly donating a few bucks? Nope

What did he do?

He said, "I'm not paying for anything like that."

There was defiant hostility in his tone.

*shakes her head*

So, I look at him and with a smile, but no humor in my tone, "Oh, I know that very well. Very well!"

Granted, my response was catty. Granted, my response was uncalled for. Granted, my attitude was wrong. But, damn it, at least I didn't launch myself across the room and deck him. I think that might have been considered a hostile reaction.

*smiles sweetly*

Regardless, there was then silence. And a mounting tension.

I decided to change the subject, since all conversations about money end up really, really bad when my Dad's involved...

So, since we had been talking about dinner before the money comments were brought up, I said that if someone was willing to take me to the store, I'd pick up something to eat.

Dad wound up being the one to drive. Fine, no sweat.

We're in the car and he asks me why the person I'm going to meet isn't paying for the ticket.

I said that it wasn't this person's responsibility. I did NOT add that since Dad was my father, and in the physical position of provider, if anyone was going to pay it should be him. I figured there wasn't any need to further the tenuous almost-an-argument-but-not-quite situation.

However, my father, never being one to let something die down, piped up with, "Well, I bought your mother's ticket when she came out here to see me."

I shrugged. Of course, I thought this... "Yeah, but you also told her to go home two days after she got out here, you motherfuckingsonofabitch!"

I didn't say that tho.

Sometimes I wonder how many times he was dropped on his head as a child.

I do not ask my father for things.

I know better.

I think that's one of the reasons I'm so uptight about having other people do things for me. There's a little twinge of guilt every time someone else does something nice for me. I've made great strides in overcoming that guilt, as it is an irrational reaction. A conditioned response.

That's also why I check and re-check with people. For instance, I think I've asked Russell a million and a half times if I'm getting on his nerves. He's always doing something for me. Either giving me praise through his presense, or making CDs or simply just listening to me when I feel the need to talk.

But damn it...

*shakes her head*

I so hate feeling like a fucking liability. But that's all I am to my dad. Don't get me wrong, here folks. I don't hate him, I don't disrespect him too much. But I know, without a doubt, that when money is involved, I am nothing but a liability.

If I were rich and making money hand over fist, he'd love me... or rather, he'd show love to me. *shrugs* It's not worth it.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm not sitting here on my ass, broke and not working, because my father would change his attitude toward me if I were making money.

I don't want to know. I don't want my father to change his behvior and prove to me, via said change, that I am now someone of merit in his eyes.

I will always be nothing more than a liability in my father's eyes. I will never be anything of whole and complete value aside from money. I will be a burden he has to bear.

I hate that.

I feel so cheap.

I feel so much like a whore. Like an old, useless whore.

*shakes her head*

But... that's neither here nor there. That's just my father's warped and twisted version of reality. It's okay if he thinks that money is the only thing of importance in the world. He can play that game as long as he wants to.

I have my own life to live.

If I have to, I'll take the fucking bus to Dallas.

I'm going.

I will make it there because God is my provider, not some old, Scrooge-esque man. And God doesn't ever, not even once, consider me a liability.

God, please... take this frustration, anger and fear away. I know you created me to be more than I am. Help me get there.

Anyway... I think I'm going to call this entry done for now. I might write again tonight, but I don't know. I"m gonna go look up bus schedules and such.

Love and all to you and yours, friends. Peace unto thy hearts.

PS.

Sympatico, I'm not depressed. I'm not irritated or angry, in case you're wondering. I'm okay, I just needed to vent about my dad. I do love him and he does the protective thing really well, but he's a hands-off kind of guy. He doesn't step in unless I need some protection or some such. he's a nice guy, just has a few faults.

And again... Peace unto thy hearts.