He said "You're an ass-hole", and I said "No Dad, you're an ass-hole" and spat in his face. And things never really recovered for the rest of his days.
At least it finally got me to do something with my life. That's something about Dads. The Oedipus complex can sometimes be just what you need to get the fuck out of your parents house and to start working a low-paying Barista job in a coffee shop, until you hate it so much you get another job you like more, and so on and so forth. It's motivation, you see.
It took him two months to realise weekly payments were still going from his corporate account to mine, and subsequently to withdraw funding for my activities. But that was two months where I got to go to the beach every day, and look at pretty girls and get drunk at 3pm and think about ridiculous things like "Could I ever fall in love if I were born with no eyes and no ears and no lips and no hands?"
I don't think I could fall in love if I couldn't see what the person was like when I wasn't around them. If I had to rely on them making the first move to communicate, I'd only ever get a part of the person that they were giving me, which is such a small part of who we are. I'd have to be able to see how they interact with the barista when they order a coffee, and how they look when they're reading, and if they can do things like order a coffee and read a book without being aware that I'm paying attention to them.
Paradoxically, if they didn't care about how every action looked as much as I do, I wouldn't really understand them, but if I never get to see them when they're not 'on', as it were, then I don't really understand them either. I need them to try their best, so I can see how good they are at talking to people, and then I need to see them fail, so I can feel a little more confident that I'm actually talking to someone real.
If someone seems naive, or even just honest, I think that they're possibly just very, very good at hiding things about them. That sounds terribly lonely.
At least it finally got me to do something with my life. That's something about Dads. The Oedipus complex can sometimes be just what you need to get the fuck out of your parents house and to start working a low-paying Barista job in a coffee shop, until you hate it so much you get another job you like more, and so on and so forth. It's motivation, you see.
It took him two months to realise weekly payments were still going from his corporate account to mine, and subsequently to withdraw funding for my activities. But that was two months where I got to go to the beach every day, and look at pretty girls and get drunk at 3pm and think about ridiculous things like "Could I ever fall in love if I were born with no eyes and no ears and no lips and no hands?"
I don't think I could fall in love if I couldn't see what the person was like when I wasn't around them. If I had to rely on them making the first move to communicate, I'd only ever get a part of the person that they were giving me, which is such a small part of who we are. I'd have to be able to see how they interact with the barista when they order a coffee, and how they look when they're reading, and if they can do things like order a coffee and read a book without being aware that I'm paying attention to them.
Paradoxically, if they didn't care about how every action looked as much as I do, I wouldn't really understand them, but if I never get to see them when they're not 'on', as it were, then I don't really understand them either. I need them to try their best, so I can see how good they are at talking to people, and then I need to see them fail, so I can feel a little more confident that I'm actually talking to someone real.
If someone seems naive, or even just honest, I think that they're possibly just very, very good at hiding things about them. That sounds terribly lonely.
