Sure as shootin', my bro called today. I was in bed and didn't get the phone, but in his message he said I could go over there. Nah, I don't think so. Much as I'd like to see everyone, I've got a lot to do in this apartment, especially since the weather cooled down.
I see faces everywhere, where everyone else sees only splotches or random patterns. I see faces in wallpaper, wood grains, etc. Right now there's a bunch of dried dog snot on my living room window and I see the face of Yoda. Isn't that a gas?
I think people think I'm curt on the phone. I don't like speaking on the phone and what I hate is hanging on the line after both parties have determined the conversation is over. I just say, "aiight, talk to ya later, 'bye," and hang up. I guess that's from my days as a secretary.
In his email, Roger said he was "amazed at my recollection." I know my parents wish I didn't remember so much. I often let them know little innocuous things I remember from my early years; my way of saying that I haven't forgotten the things they did, as much as they were hoping. Roger also said that, since he was missing his daughter, I reminded him how sweet little girls are. You know, I *was* a sweet little girl. I just don't understand why I had to have such a pervert for a father; why I'll never know what it's like to have a normal, loving, non-sexual, affectionate father-daughter relationship.
I'm finding it difficult to write back to Roger now.
posted by Newpeep, N.D. (neurotic depressive) @ 10:03 AM
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