Thursday, December 9, 1999
Today I went and registered for my spring semester at Tri-C. Along the way, I figured out why the college thought I owed them money and bought that book on fiction that I needed. Let's start with the book. Okay, I was supposed to have this book at the beginning of the semester, but I didn't have the money then and after some time, I forgot. Well, when it came around to us actually having to read parts of this book, I found myself to be stuck. So I went and bought it.
Afterwards, I went and filled out the registration card for the spring semester. When I handed the nice lady my card, she informed me that I had an outstanding balance on my account and that I'd have to take care of that first. Okay. This was a mistake, so I went to the business office to find out what the hell happened. I found out that my $500 scholarship had been partially put towards classes and partially put towards books, which I did not know about. The scholarship was supposed to cover one class completely and part of another class.
The lady at the office was surprised that it was done that way and that I had not been informed of this. The situation was resolved and I was informed that I did not actually owe any money at all. So I went back to the registration office and tried again.
The first english class I had chosen was an honors, which they said I couldn't take (even though the english I'm in now is an honors english). Okay. So I chose another one. This time, the class was full and I had to find another one. The third time was a charm and I got into an english class finally. It wasn't at 11am anymore, but 1pm english isn't all that bad. I guess I shouldn't really complain about it. The only thing is there's now an hour gap between classes that I'll have to accomodate. That shouldn't be hard.
The hard part is going to be paying for four classes. It's about $1200. I think I'll set up a donation center.
Guess what? I'm working in a pharmacy because my mom made me work in one so that she could get Percocet and Demerol for free at anytime she wanted. She's controlling me and making me do things that I don't want to do instead of letting me choose my own course and be an iron worker or something. I'm also letting all these people rape her so that she can siphon money off of them and be as rich as she is. Or so goes my dad's theories.
His latest twist in the "Dave's working in a pharmacy because he has no choice" saga is that my mom wouldn't let me decide for myself what I wanted to do and made me work in the pharmacy. Apparently some secret deal went down allowing me to work in the pharmacy and that I'm getting her Percocet and Demerol for her to use. My dream of being an iron worker has also been destroyed. Try and avoid the snickering I'm making as I write this too.
*Sigh* It's never occurred to my dad that I made the choice of working in the pharmacy. I've never wanted to be an iron worker in my life. It's not because I hate iron workers, but rather that it's not something I'm interested in. I'm interested in the pharmacy and he just can't seem to understand that. We're waiting for him to overdose on either crack or pain medication because he's abusing both right now. It's amazing that one man can become so twisted and messed up.
As far as I'm concerned, I've had enough of this. I'm sick of his wild accusations and his ranting and raving about God knows what. He keeps telling my mom to make "the call." Sure thing. Just tell her who the hell she's supposed to be calling because we don't have a damn clue as to who the hell it is. He then tells her to get an apartment and get out of the house. We tell him we're going to be gone shortly and that we're looking at condos and townhouses everyday. He seems to think an apartment would do just fine.
He's to the point where he's going through everything in the house. I went up to my room tonight and found the closet to be a complete mess. This wouldn't be unusual except that my closest was not a mess when I left. My dad had tore through the stuff in my closet to try and find the fucking ab roller that was in the back of the closet. He made a mess of my closet over an ab roller. He didn't bother to clean up or explain why he did that.
I also found out he took some of the coins I had been collecting because he ran out of money. I don't collect much, so when I do collect something, I take it seriously. I had each of the quarters with the states on the back that had come out. Now all I have is Connecticut, and that's only because I had a duplicate. Hell, I was shocked that he didn't take my silver dollar. When I asked him about it, he brought some money that I apparently "owe" him. He then went on with the "they're just quarters" argument. He missed my point completely. I wasn't collecting them to spend. I was collecting them to keep.
It's frustrating because I have to hide everything from him. It's almost like having a small kid in the house. He's into everything and if he disagrees with you, he whines like a little kid. He even takes on a childish voice for emphasis. He's gone and moved stuff around all over the house. All the boxes we had packed up in the garage disappeared one day. I later found out that he had gone and moved them into the attic over the garage. He can take the effort to move shit around like that, but he can't do anything else. He complains about how we don't fix up the house. I'm sorry, but who owns the house? Shouldn't the owner take care of it? Especially if he lives in it?
As you can tell, it's aggravating. Even as I write this he continues to talk. He never shuts up and is always moving around at night. He's also taking way too much pain medication. The body can only take so much Tylenol, Motrin, and Advil in a period of time. Not only is he taking each one too often, he's taking them all at once. It's dangerous what he's doing to himself.
I had a thought about what it would have been like if I had a dad who cared, who was straight, and who lived a good clean life. I think about it because I wonder how things would have been otherwise. I wonder if I would have turned out different, or if I somehow would end up being the way I am anyway. I probably think about it more because I really haven't had a normal life for any extended period of time. There's always been one thing or another, either directly or indirectly because of my dad.
Who knows what kind of person I would be. I might have been more confident in things since I wouldn't have to deal with my dad treating me like I was nothing. I might have been better at sports because my dad would've always been around to play sports with. I might have been better at relating to people and might have been better at communicating. I might have actually been outgoing.
However, would I know to appreciate certain things the way I do right now? I doubt it. I don't think I'd have the respect for adults that I carry with me. I don't think I'd have the same personality or anything close to my personality now. I wonder about these things all the time. I wonder if I'd be who I am today if I had it better even more so than who I might have been if I had a good childhood. Would I have the same sense of humor with the restraint that I have, or would I have been one of those guys who picks on people for the hell of it? I don't know.
Maybe it's just as well that I don't ever know.
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