Last night, my father started yelling and complaining about the pile of laundry by the basement door and the random clothes on chairs in the living room.
As he was still saying that 'they better all be gone by the time I get home from work tomorrow!', he placed a his sweatshirt on the computer chair, so I called him out on it.
What was his response?
The immature brat of a man ignored that he was, himself, making a mess and started yelling about my room.
Yeah, okay, nice thing to teach your kids: don't address your problems, just pick out somebody else's. This is why my baby brother is a brat.
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Saturday, March 6, 2010
My, my, hello
I'd like to write beautiful stories about beautiful things, and tragic epic poems about storm and fires of love. Adventure seems to have entrapped me, but I can't seem to let it out. There's little that I've done and a lot I have left to do.
2010 - Hey Fitzy, it's okay. She'll come back some day.. Powered by Blogger
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1 comments:
*hugs* I feel you. My dad is the same thing; the second he feels threatened he finds a way to make you feel like you're the problem. You are NOT the problem. Soon enough you shall begin your epic journal to total independance leaving him in the dust. Victory will be sweet.
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