27.7.05

Maybe Ala-Non

I feel:: crushed
What song is on a loop in my head right now:: Buena Vista Social Club~Buena Vista Social Club

On Mondays and Wednesdays, for this second summer term, I have two classes. I have Psychosexual Behavior from 10:20am to 11:50am, then I have Water Aerobics from 12:00pm to 1:00pm. (I've lost 6 pounds so far by the way. I'm awfully proud of myself.)

At the beginning of the term, I printed out a copy of my schedule from the school website and slapped it on the refrigerator with a big ass magnet, then I told dad,"Here's my schedule." I even brought him into the kitchen and showed him where I had tacked it on the fridge. Monday, at 10:23, my dad called me. I didn't know this, of course, because I was in class and my cell was off (it's only polite). After that class, I had 10 minutes in which to get to the gym, change into my bathing suit and get in the pool. I didn't check my phone. I didn't have time. At about 1:10pm I was sitting in my car checking my voicemails. I had eight of them. I thought,"Wow, I wonder who all called me?" I never get that many voicemails. My dad, starting with the first call at 10:23, told me in angrier and angrier tones that he had locked himself out of the house and had neither an extra set of car keys nor an extra house key. The heat index that day was something totally ridiculous like 112F. So, I called him and asked him where he was. He yelled into the phone,"I'm sitting on the goddamn front porch! I've been here since 10:30!" I was hurt and defensive, so I told him, hurriedly that I had been in class. He interrupted me by yelling,"Since 10:30?!" So, I had to go through explaining to him about my class times. He accused me of not checking my messages enough. So then, I had to explain to him about how little time I had between classes and how large the campus is. He said after that,"Well, come home." Then, he hung up abruptly. At first, I was angry, then increasingly freaked out. I tore out of the parking lot and drove 60mph down University Avenue (a city street), I got on the freeway doing 75mph. I drove through my neighborhood like a madwoman, trying at the same time to look for kids. A drive that normally takes me about 20 minutes took me about 12 that day. I pulled into the driveway of our house and practically flew out of the car. I ran up to my dad and asked him, breathlessly, "Are you ok?" He laughed and said,"I'm terribly hot." I was so afraid he was going to have heatstroke from sitting outside for so long since he is 75. Much younger people get heatstroke from being outside when the heat index is that high. I opened the front door for him, he went inside, changed, and then told me that he was going to the Moose Lodge. I was floored. I was half worried that he was dizzy and dehydrated and might wreck; the other half of me was pissed that he made such a big deal out of it when it didn't seem to affect him at all. I felt like he took advantage of me. I felt like he knew that I would be freaked out and that I would rush home. After he left, I started thinking about some things like: Why didn't he call his sister to come pick him up? She only works part time and lives only about 10 minutes from us. He also could have gone to our neighbor's house. We know them pretty well. They sometimes mow our yard just to be nice. He also could have gone across the street to the house where the lady lives who makes cookies for him. She's a housewife and has 3 kids. He could have gone directly across the street to our neighbors who have the sweet Laborador Retriever. We talk to them all the time. Every time they are outside with their dog, she runs over to play in our yard. Those are just the people we know. I think practically anyone would have helped him in our neighborhood. He didn't have to sit out in that pressing heat and risk getting heatstroke. He has so many numbers in his phone of people he says are his friends. Why didn't he call one of them? He could have called my cousin Andrea or her husband. His sister's husband doesn't even work. He's retired. He could have called Joe and hung out with him until I got out of class.

The more I thought about it, the angrier I became. I wanted to scream at him,"IT'S NOT MY FAULT THAT YOU LOCKED YOUR ASS OUT OF THE FUCKING HOUSE! MAYBE IF YOU WEREN'T SUCH A GODDAMN DRUNK, YOU WOULD HAVE REMEMBERED YOUR FREAKIN KEYS!" (I also think he's addicted to his painkillers now since he's been taking them for his hip ever since his surgery. He took first Vicodin, now he has Darvoset.) My therapist thinks I should start going to Ala-non, a support group for adult children of alcoholics. I don't know. Maybe it's time. Sometimes, I just want to bitch slap him.

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