May 26th, 2002


Daddy left you with no love.

Because I hadn't gotten much cleaning done over the week and I'm not sure when I'm going to have time to do it I decided not to go up to the country this weekend and instead stay home and clean. I did actually get some work done before finding more interesting things to do and frittering away the time, but it came at a heavy price.

Let me tell you, one of the reasons that I avoid cleaning is that buried under all the crap tends to be items associated with my father. Be they old computer games that he bought me or slides from the microscope we used to look at together, they are there, lurking like emotional landmines from a shattered past. This time it was a book on monographs of lysosomes that he wrote in 1976. I asked my mother about it and she said there was a story behind getting the book published, but she didn't have time to get into it. Anyway I decided to ship that one off to the country and didn't think much about it, but it must have been on my mind because I had one of those dreams again.

The dreams are a unique and special form of torture. They always start out nice and pleasant. This time I was up in Maine at our house when I learned somehow that my father wasn't dead after all, he had just left because he couldn't handle it. So I start trying to figure out ways to get in touch with him, begging my mother for the phone number, searching around etc. I just want to show him that I've changed, I'm better now, he doesn't need to stay away anymore. All I remember of specifics of this one was that when I was told that I couldn't see him until sunday I literally hurled myself to the ground and threw a tantrum that it couldn't be sooner. They always end the same way though, I get a chance to see him and just before I get a chance to ask why I wake up.

It's the waking up that always kills me. I hate the waking up. I either feel one of two things. A) That no amount of virtue or work on my part will bring back the one person I will ever really care about and that my life boils down to trying to impress some dust in a lake or B) That I'm not good enough for him to come back and I never will be. If I had just been less of a pain in the ass he wouldn't have left and my world would not have been split assunder. That this is some sort of divine punishment for my failings.

What's worse? Knowing that you'll never be good enough to get what you want or knowing that getting what you want really has nothing to do with virtue?

It always takes some time to recover from those dreams so I'm going to take it relatively easy today. Go see Star Wars, hang out, do some cleaning etc. I just wish that the dreams would end. That I could move on in some substantial way. But I can't. I can only ride them out as best I can and swear that I won't let it happen again. Love, baby. Most dangerous thing in the world.
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