ericboy's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Inna Godda Da Vida, Baby I stopped by this store that boasts "Most Items 99cents" to buy some head phones and found some for $1.59. I took these to the front counter along with some cookies and the lady behind the counter purposely didn't ring up the headphones and gave them to me for free. I was so elated with the money that I saved that I bought some Snapple for this homeless guy that I like to talk to who sits outside of the Henry's Marketplace. He was grateful, I was grateful, everyone was so damn happy that I thought we'd all explode. The "v" key at this library computer is mysteriously overused, and I wonder what someone could have been typing so much that would make it be so. Also, the "f" key is a little screwy. Curious.... So I've been so pleasant lately that I think I'm in danger of having my Cynic's Card revoked. I hope I'm not publicly chastised at the next "Assholes Anonymous". I've been entertaining the notion of alerting my father to the presence of this diary, but I'm reluctant to do so. He doesn't care in the slightest about anything that I write. I'm not sure if he thinks I'm a tree-hugging hippie with too liberal viewpoints or if he's aversed to my profanity and modern dialect. Regardless, I don't understand why he can't jive with what I do. All the profanity and the calloused observational eye that I use to observe the world with I learned from him. He just doesn't take any interest in it whatsoever. My mother, on the other hand, is very supportive, and had to beg me to let her in to my private stock of writings. And, even though I'm sure she won't agree with half of the things that I say or the way that I go about saying them, she's still interested in hearing my voice and knowing what I have to say. She takes an interest in the WRITING, itself, because she knows that I feel passionately about it. That's why she's the greatest person on the planet and I hold her in the highest esteem, whereas my father could go and fuck himself, for all I care. But the problem is that I do care. I want to reach out with him, to connect with him. And, even if we can't have that, I'd like to think that he gives a shit about what I'm up to and could maybe bring himself to pore over one of my dissertations once in a blue moon. I doubt he'd do it, and the best way to quell that doubt is not to ask him, that way I'll KNOW he won't, and then it will no longer be a mystery. Well, my analytical mind found the solution to that problem quickly, now didn't it? Oh, I don't know anymore. I want to try with him but it's just easier to let it go. But he is my father, and, like I was telling Makana the other day, if nothing else, I at least want to be in the position where I'll be notified when he dies. For that to happen, I need to bridge the gap somewhat. Damn, I'm bumming myself out. Ah, to Hell with this! I'm getting some coffee! 12:27 p.m. - 2003-03-10 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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