The Dad Letter: I need to tell you what happened today…

Today I received a message on Facebook from my Dad’s girlfriend. This is what it said:

“I have a message from a friend that you are bad mouthing me. You do not see your step Dad because you walked away nor because of me. He is not your Father and wants nothing to do with you because of your behavior towards him. You took sides with a vicious wicked woman. Stay with her. You are a selfish spoiled person.”

Notice the word “step” before Dad and the words “vicious wicked woman.” My Dad is not my step Dad. He adopted me when I was 3 days old. My mom is many things, but she has never been anything near the description “vicious” and “wicked.” If anything, she is way too meek and mild.

If you can recall, my therapist assigned me the homework of writing my dad a letter. I have not done this. I have not known what to say and also… if I wrote him a letter he 1. wouldn’t read it and 2. it wouldn’t feel like an actual goodbye. A real goodbye would give him a chance… one final chance to say… something.

So today I decided to be done with it and I drove to his house.

He came out and said “I know we have some things we have to work out, but not now.”

“When, Dad?” I said. “It has been four years. I’m here to say ‘goodbye.’ I’m here to give you a chance to tell me you love me or you never loved me or you really think I’m not your daughter and I’m selfish and spoiled.”

He couldn’t look me in the eye.

“I never said those things.”

Then SHE came out. Standing at about four inches shorter than me, she put her face in my face and the screaming never stopped.

“You fucking whore bitch, I read your fucking high school journals. You slept with your fiance you fucking whore before you were married. Get off my fucking lawn, I’m calling the police. He’s not your dad! I hate your fucking guts. He’s not your dad! He’s your step Dad he Adopted you! Your own fucking parents didn’t want you you selfish whore bitch.”

And on and on and on. I stood there… in my dress suit and heels, just clocked out of work, standing there staring at my grey-haired, stooped dad watching this woman yell in my face.

“You should have been here a long time ago,” she had the audacity to say, “Your dad has been dying and where have you been?”

“I have been here.” I said. “I came here, I came to the hospital, you both yelled at me and told me to get the hell out. What was I supposed to do?”

Then she pushed me. She took both her hands and shoved me. She called my mom a whore bitch. She called me a fucking whore and then she pushed me. And I stood there. I didn’t react– I am not violent. I’m not “white trash.” I was raised with manners and a way to do things and never ever in my life have I encountered a woman like this. I have only seen stuff like her on staged shows like Jerry Springer. I felt like I was at the zoo, or the circus. She grabbed a phone and began rattling my name to the police. Then she lit into me again… all the while my dad just stood there, watching and mumbling to himself.

I just watched her go, mostly out of curiosity.  At that moment I wanted a cigarette. I don’t smoke, but I think I could have lit the cig and burned the whole thing down before she was finished. Finally, I reacted. I looked her up and down.

“I’m not scared of you.” I said. “You don’t intimidate me. You are scared. You are so scared of me you can’t even control yourself. My dad said I couldn’t be part of his life unless I accepted you, but look at you. Why would I do that? I feel sorry for you, but not enough to let you in… never.”

I turned to Dad, “This is goodbye,” and I waved my hand over to his girlfriend who began running her mouth and blabbing at the cops, and I said “This is what you left us for. Goodbye, Dad. I’m gone.”

Then I looked at her, “You know, you are going to die some day.” And then I left.

I slipped into my car and drove off. I drove in a daze that my mere presence would cause such a ruckus. I did nothing. I absolutely did nothing but just… be. I had so much power over that woman. So much action jammed packed into my being there.

The crazy girlfriend yelling and flailing her arms in the air grew small in my rearview mirror.

And that was my goodbye letter. I’m done. It’s a new, precious life from here on out.

I just emailed my therapist. I’m in need of a session or two.


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Long Absences and 14 Reasons I Despise My Manager

You come here to blog and then you disappear and then when you return you feel like apologizing for not opening your diary to everyone for the past few months or so, but apologies are not necessary. Just because a blog is public does not make it obligatory. And so, here I am again… not apologizing for anything.

Sometimes when I read apologies from bloggers who have not posted in a while I feel nauseous, like seriously.

Oh. My.

What has happened since I last splurged?

Well, I work in a business that has a very busy certain time of year that has to do with finances. If you are clever, you can probably Name-That-Occupation. Well, I survived… which isn’t hard because, for me, it is just more stuffing of the same envelopes and processing of the same documents only… more. This happened during the transition between Winter and Spring.

So, when I crawled pale-faced and anemic out of the office after our “busy season” I found flowers and sunshine and Spring. Which made me feel… happy.


I also applied for a new job…. shhhhhhhhhhhhh. Don’t tell.

I will have to write and cry buckets to catch you up on everything, but let me spill on this one subject today:

My Manager is INSANE.

Things about my manager that annoy me:

1. She likes to refer to herself as “Mama.”

2. She likes to refer to herself as MY “Mama.” I already have one of those and I do NOT have room for another–especially at work.

3. She is obsessed with her dogs to the point that when she is talking to you about them, when they are not even here, she uses a baby voice.

4. She is patronizing. She tried to teach me how to talk to old people. I’m from the South where customer service is ingrained in my blood. Do NOT teach me how to say “Thank you” and “Yes, Ma’am” when I already do this… naturally.

5. She attempted to teach me how to fold a piece of paper to stuff in an envelope yesterday, although I have been doing this… everyday… for almost a year. Not to mention my whole life… since we learned how to address envelopes in the third grade.

6. She makes inappropriate comments about my coworkers weight/eating habits/working talents in front of me and others. I HATE THIS.

7. She complains about absolutely everything that has to do with her job and then makes serious comments like “I am the most positive person working at this place” — THIS, although she is the ONLY person I EVER hear complaining.

8. She asked me how my husband and I could afford to go on a trip (none of her damn business) and then followed it up with asking if she could pay me to clean out her garage… you know, since I’m not a grown-ass woman or anything and I have time in my life to clean out HER garage (or spend any additional time with her, for that matter). I don’t.

9. Her steps are so heavy and I can hear her all the way across the office.

10. She wears about 15 bangles on her wrists, which is annoying except that on the off-chance she is not taking massive Giant Beast steps I can always tell when she is coming.

11. She is manipulative about having me cover for her so she can miss work.

12. She uses the word “fuck” casually in the office. That is just not professional. At all.

13. Once, when she was lecturing me about nothing (literally, nothing) and I said, “I am not sure the reason why I am receiving a lecture,” she responded with “That is the most disrespectful thing I have ever heard come out of your mouth. I would never tell my boss he was ‘lecturing’ me,” and then directly after she said this she called me a “smart ass” to my face… because that is more professional.

14. A small child could do her job well.


I am so glad I got that out.

And I am crossing my fingers for an interview with this stellar new company.


Oh, and… hi, how are you?

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The Lingering Breaking Point, Old Books, and More and More Crying.

When I am “out of the fog,” I am not completely light-hearted, airy, and… happy.

When the cloud of depression evaporates I am left fragile–extremely, annoyingly fragile.

I am like a small butterfly whose wings have been torn and I can only hop from one little pleasantry to another. Better off a worm.


even when I am “out of the fog,” I cry. Like I have mentioned before, crying is the ritual.


I felt like I could break. I drove my car around crying and crying and around and around waiting for the breaking to begin…

like when you feel a bought of sickness coming on and you resist the vomiting, but wish it would come just so it could be over all the same…

that is how it is with breaking.

But instead I bought a book.

There is something about the smell of old books that feels like “home” to me… not the home of my childhood or the home of my current day, but a soul-ish home… a burying into my animalistic ways. Flight, fight, or read.

I scanned the aisles of the used book store and bought five little lovelies.

When I got into my car I breathed in the pages of each book and sat there, with the white noise  running through my brain, and waited…

for the breaking…

but it never came.

And so, I escaped another day, out of the fog, running frantically from the constantly lingering roll of thunder that rips the manic from me.

And now I have five books to read.


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