I'm feeling particularly cranky and irritable today. Things just seem to really be getting under my skin.
My dad, I realize, will never, ever attend to his health the way he should. He's had two heart attacks, one pretty major, he's overweight, and is diabetic, and yet he still eats whatever he pleases whenever he pleases. It fucking pisses me off that he doesn't give the least little shit that him not taking care of himself doesn't only effect him. I am everything he's got. Literally. If something else happens to him, I'm the one who has to take care of everything. I'm the one who has to fucking worry and take care of shit. But does he think about that? No. We got in an argument today when he went to Baskin Robins and got a fucking double scoop. I told him that when he had another heart attack, I wasn't going to fret and run to the hospital again. When he was in the hospital after his last attack, he swore that he would give up smoking and start taking care of himself. His doctor told him that if he didn't, he was going to die. We moved in together so he wouldn't be alone and so I could be there to help keep him on track...and he agreed to accept my help. Now, he bitches at me when I get on him for eating shit he's not supposed to eat. He's got every fucking excuse in the book to eat whatever he wants...it's my birthday, it's your birthday, it's Thanksgiving..... I'm not going to sit around and be witness to him letting himself go anymore. It fucking stresses me out and he obviously doesn't give a shit. So, I'm not going to give a shit anymore. When our lease is up, I'm fuckin' out of here.
Ug. I think I will go out tonight, shake my rump, and drink too much beer.
My dad, I realize, will never, ever attend to his health the way he should. He's had two heart attacks, one pretty major, he's overweight, and is diabetic, and yet he still eats whatever he pleases whenever he pleases. It fucking pisses me off that he doesn't give the least little shit that him not taking care of himself doesn't only effect him. I am everything he's got. Literally. If something else happens to him, I'm the one who has to take care of everything. I'm the one who has to fucking worry and take care of shit. But does he think about that? No. We got in an argument today when he went to Baskin Robins and got a fucking double scoop. I told him that when he had another heart attack, I wasn't going to fret and run to the hospital again. When he was in the hospital after his last attack, he swore that he would give up smoking and start taking care of himself. His doctor told him that if he didn't, he was going to die. We moved in together so he wouldn't be alone and so I could be there to help keep him on track...and he agreed to accept my help. Now, he bitches at me when I get on him for eating shit he's not supposed to eat. He's got every fucking excuse in the book to eat whatever he wants...it's my birthday, it's your birthday, it's Thanksgiving..... I'm not going to sit around and be witness to him letting himself go anymore. It fucking stresses me out and he obviously doesn't give a shit. So, I'm not going to give a shit anymore. When our lease is up, I'm fuckin' out of here.
Ug. I think I will go out tonight, shake my rump, and drink too much beer.
Fathers can be really thick sometimes.