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it's not worth it.
Feb. 11th, 2025 08:39 pmthose were the words that escaped under my breath walking out of dad's house tonight, trying hard to NOT slam the door: "It's not worth it."
any of it; all of it. something something diminishing returns.
When I showed up and shimmied out of my hoodie, dad was confused: he thought I drove all the way up there just to get two industrial-sized boxes of granola bars and then head out. "No, you have drawstrings that need unknotted?" I asked, but he can't hear and certainly doesn't listen, so it took three tries and some snark on his end for him to remember what he'd asked me to do (and then threw a fit when I didn't drop everything to do it on Sunday). Three pants with tightly-knotted drawstrings. I brought dpns to use, and they did eventually serve to pry apart the flannel pulled too taut and cemented into place with maude-knows-what. I jokingly said they could buy me dinner, and next thing I know we're headed to my car and to the Mexican place in an old Pizza Hut building. He can barely get his legs into my car, and now he can't make the arms and hands work to buckle himself in. That, of course, led to a litany of wrongs in cars, because how dare he ever say anything nice about anything. and no, he doesn't want your feedback or opinion, he just wants to bitch. He's got an audience now, one that isn't hard of hearing, and by golly, he's got A LIST.
I got lucky at dinner, that I was across from Diane, not him. He's losing his social skills at an alarming rate, as one does when they're low-vision, hard of hearing, and isolated. he two-fists his food like a toddler starved, and it is NOT pretty. He's demanding. hogs the salsa, then demands I summon more, rather than just asking for it with his order. he's already making a bunch of substitutions on his dinner.
the drive home is more of the same. epic one-up-manship. I comment on gas prices. he mentions as he always does, that they get $1/gal off at Kroger. I get $0.20/gal off at Speedway as an employee. that last part doesn't matter, because HE gets $1/gal off at Kroger... I'm driving, so I resist the urge to turn to him and scream that NO ONE CARES, because you have to shop at Kroger to get that, and I don't grocery shop three times a week for things I don't need.
I have to run inside to get the granola bars and my drink, or I'd cut and run so fast the neighbors would surely pop their heads out at the commotion. Now that I'm home, I'm low-level angry, the kind that paralyzes me and prevents any sort of useful action. but it's the same anger that has me wanting to load up my car, drive southeast, and never look back.
it's just not worth it.
any of it; all of it. something something diminishing returns.
When I showed up and shimmied out of my hoodie, dad was confused: he thought I drove all the way up there just to get two industrial-sized boxes of granola bars and then head out. "No, you have drawstrings that need unknotted?" I asked, but he can't hear and certainly doesn't listen, so it took three tries and some snark on his end for him to remember what he'd asked me to do (and then threw a fit when I didn't drop everything to do it on Sunday). Three pants with tightly-knotted drawstrings. I brought dpns to use, and they did eventually serve to pry apart the flannel pulled too taut and cemented into place with maude-knows-what. I jokingly said they could buy me dinner, and next thing I know we're headed to my car and to the Mexican place in an old Pizza Hut building. He can barely get his legs into my car, and now he can't make the arms and hands work to buckle himself in. That, of course, led to a litany of wrongs in cars, because how dare he ever say anything nice about anything. and no, he doesn't want your feedback or opinion, he just wants to bitch. He's got an audience now, one that isn't hard of hearing, and by golly, he's got A LIST.
I got lucky at dinner, that I was across from Diane, not him. He's losing his social skills at an alarming rate, as one does when they're low-vision, hard of hearing, and isolated. he two-fists his food like a toddler starved, and it is NOT pretty. He's demanding. hogs the salsa, then demands I summon more, rather than just asking for it with his order. he's already making a bunch of substitutions on his dinner.
the drive home is more of the same. epic one-up-manship. I comment on gas prices. he mentions as he always does, that they get $1/gal off at Kroger. I get $0.20/gal off at Speedway as an employee. that last part doesn't matter, because HE gets $1/gal off at Kroger... I'm driving, so I resist the urge to turn to him and scream that NO ONE CARES, because you have to shop at Kroger to get that, and I don't grocery shop three times a week for things I don't need.
I have to run inside to get the granola bars and my drink, or I'd cut and run so fast the neighbors would surely pop their heads out at the commotion. Now that I'm home, I'm low-level angry, the kind that paralyzes me and prevents any sort of useful action. but it's the same anger that has me wanting to load up my car, drive southeast, and never look back.
it's just not worth it.
