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Edited on Sun Jun-13-04 02:13 PM by AlFrankenFan
So, for my 1000th post, I would like to inform you this:
As many of you are aware, I will be in Camp Hill, Pennsylvania, from Monday, June 14th until Thursday, June 24th. Also as many of you are aware, it is no picnic being there. What it shows though, is that I should be grateful for what I have here in California. There are many things I take for granted:
-Television
-Having my own, big bed to sleep (instead it's half of a bunk bed)
-Having my own room
-Computer and Internet
-Normal servings of food
-Air conditioning
-Fans
-The ability to practice my own faith (as we are forced to church)
-The ability to watch movies over PG
-Privacy
-Staying up late, sleeping in late
-Access to anything liberal (books, AAR, etc...)
All these things I enjoy I have little or no access to at the home of my father. An old rustic and a bit run down home, 2200 Dickinson Avenue is where these nightmares come together to form reality. It could be said I am being pampered back home, as may be the case, but the material neglect is by far the last reason I dread this place so. Imagine being brought into someone's home, watching them behind a one-way glass window perform their everyday tasks and duties. You'd think because of our annual visit we would actually go somewhere, but alas no. We just live their lives. And you'd think the man, our very own father, who only sees my brother and I once in a while would take off a week from work and spend time with us, but again, he does not. He sees us as material possesions, much as a small child sees their new toy, and as the child brags and nags another child without the toy, my father nags that he has the very thing my mother cares about deepest - her two children.
Not only that, but he is a liar. My father is a liar. Even the lies about the smallest things, such as why he divorced my mother and why he stole the pages of my notebook (which only contained transcripts I copied from a book of Saturday Night Live) make the biggest difference. Not only that, but personally, he does not respect me, nor any woman for that matter. He hates a woman who can stand up for herself, and can voice her own opinion, and think for herself - part of the reason my mother could not have possibly survived with him. He openly mocks me ("Get used to men beating you cause you'll have it happen the rest of your life") and thinks it's funny - what kind of human takes pleasure from the pain of their own flesh and blood? And he wonders why neither my brother or myself trusts him even the littlest bit, nor do we respect him ("I deserve your respect - I'm your fucking father!" - a quote said to my brother in Delware the very eve he robbed me of my SNL script).
So, whomever may be reading this, think of me on Tuesday morning, and know my description to be accurate: I will be sitting, alone at the kitchen table, listening to my step-sister Louise watch Seasame Street, Catherine talking on the phone, my brother in our shared bedroom with the cots we sleep on entertaining himself, and as I sit, I stare out the window to their dark green fence and the blue ripple of their pool, knowing that ten days of my life are slowly being wasted away.
Contacts:
AIM: NorthfieldMNRox; Cotton Condi
E-mail: paulwellstonedemocrat@mail.com; sam.ddc@cox.net
Availablity: e-mail anytime; IM me when I'm online (of course), most likely online anywhere between 7 AM PST and 3 PM PST.
Peace
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