In case it wasn't already obvious, to my dying fan base, I want to say that I've been taking a break from both reality and the written world. I've been writing (not working on them because they aren't a construction site) some songs. After a rather crappy 2007, I finally read all those piled up fortune cookies in my bottom drawer. Got sick of getting screwed over and clinging to some distant memory of the past.
My father and I are not really the type to sit down and have a conversation. Actually, up until a two or years ago, we weren't really capable of anything. Talking, looking at each other, let alone being in the same room. It isn't that I am not grateful to the man that sacrificed his childhood and teenage years to take care of us, doing his best to provide us with food and toys so that my sister and me never felt for a second that we were unfortunate. It's thanks to him that I think that Burger King and Chef Boyardee are fine cuisine.
The other thing about my sperm donor (as I fondly called him) is that he is completely screwed up in the relationship department. I don't think he's ever had a stable, monogamous relationship and what makes this worse is that he is a shrink. So I can safely say that all shrinks are fucking crazy. Some just know how to hide it better.
It seems to me that dad has been undergoing some sort emotional struggle because of this. He's been smoking. My dad doesn't smoke. Not even the four times that I've been in jail. Not even when I told him I was into men. Not even when the woman that gave birth to me and my sister fucked things over and left. But NOW he's stressed out.
Maybe he's met his match.
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