Flight or Fight…..

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I’ve been non-responsive. I assumed that the reflex would kick in at some point but it has eluded me still. Down came the rain and washed this poor spider out.

I have been trying to help the Mister with his new goals. Business, business and bloody business. He wants to be the employer instead of the employed. Sometimes I think it’s a good way to go. Right?

But I have my doubts..like maybe we should just move to a place where the 12% VAT (value added tax) does not exist. That way we can get simple jobs and still be able to buy more than we need. Because life was so much easier before the 12%VAT came along. There was much to be saved without the pinching. Lately, no matter how hard we pinch much has not been saved.

I hate being at the mercy of crap.

Speaking of crap, my father came to see me the other day. I think he did it to mostly gloat. He kept talking about that damned car he wants to get my sister. When he wasn’t talking about that, he was asking me about my commute. I honestly wanted to tell him to leave me the f*** alone, but I reigned it in and told him nicely that I take the tricycle to Crossing and walk the rest of the way to Megamall. He mentioned that pick-pockets and snatchers frequented that intersection, and that, if I was walking home with bags of groceries I would be the likely target. Funny, it seemed that the thought that his daughter might be pick-pocketed amused him. He is a daft man, my father is. He never knows how mean he can get and so never suffers any guilt for the broken hearts. He bugs me about this house he wants to build for the family. And yet he fails to see that I don’t want to do it because I will never be part of it. The Mister (bless his kind heart) has taken to the design to save me. But my father insists on rubbing salt into my invisible wounds. My father wants me to make sure his house is built. But I don’t see why I would want to do it. I’ve been kicked out. I don’t belong. And for as long as I can remember I have never qualified as the daughter. Why can’t I just be left alone? Why he has to keep yanking on this string I don’t know. But I am sucker for his calls and visits. Always hoping that he might be nice to me and give me some sort of assurance that I can count on him to help me any time.

Sometimes I imagine I was someone else’s daughter. That someday my real parents will come and take me away. But it’s dumb because the parents I’ve lived with my whole life don’t know who I am. How can I expect the imaginary parents from far away?

This is so juvenile. I tried to forget about everything. I really did. But there is something about trying to forget and trying to remember that makes it all seem hopeless. I remember codeine and the floating brain, all thought and reason out of reach, it was almost bliss. But the headache cure is better than codeine, because the brain does not float. Instead, it reaches an unknown plateau in my mind, and everything matters because I am so deeply loved in every sense of the word.

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