Ich Bin Der Teufel

I wouldn’t want to move out.

Piss off.

<edit/> Now that I’m not so pissed that I want to throw my laptop.

Like seriously. You always have to have an “I’m better than you” demeanor. That shit is getting so old. I recognize you’re upset but you can’t go about screaming and barreling through. You treat mom like shit and even threaten to knock me out? Who the fuck do you think you are?

I don’t believe for a second I’ll turn into him, and thankfully so. Whenever there is shit to do in the house, you don’t do any of it. Going to work and coming home sober aren’t the makings to being an actual father or an actual husband. Putting on a mask at work and pretending to be calm and collected is well and fine but that’s not where it counts. I don’t want anymore of these stupid fucking threats. I don’t HAVE to drive anywhere. 

And we’re sorting the endless bags of laundry which means you can’t get through the front way but that won’t stop you. I tell you to go around, but you barrel through anyway and fall. And everyone flocks to you with this sympathy that makes me sick. I told you to go around, you saw that you couldn’t go that way but you couldn’t be expected to walk 20 feet around the pile so you fell. Cause and effect. Stupid actions beget stupid results.

And then you go into apology mode where it’s suddenly as if all you did doesn’t matter anymore. I’m still pissed at you and by no means am I going to go take a ride with you to go talk about you’re feelings. Talk to me when I need you, not when you need me. I’m the son, you’re the father. I can’t be your peer when you’re upset if you can’t treat me with an inch of respect when you’re angry. Be unhappy. Let it fester. I’m not forgiving you for this one to your face just yet.