Friday, December 02, 2005

Right on Time

As mentioned in other posts, about a week after Sam heads back to Montreal, I get walloped with an aluminum baseball bat called Depression.

This morning, almost a week after I dropped him off with his other family, the depression has come swinging for the fences, and my head's the ball.

So today I am down and out, having trouble concentrating on work, and putting curses on a few people who really really deserve it. In spades.

During the last drop-off, Grandpa-In-Law (who prefers the title "Puppa", which I won't use since it sounds an awful lot like "Papa", the job Grandpa- and Grandma-In-Law decided to usurp) shook my hand. I wanted very badly to refuse that hand, but I am as tied to social rituals as anyone else and shook it as quickly and limply as I could. I wanted to wash the scum off immediately. Next time I'll refuse that fucking hand I tell myself, but I know that next time I'll do the same thing. Maybe next time I'll squeeze his hand as hard as I can and see if I can break a finger or two. And maybe monkeys will fly out of my ass...

Melissa, who for some reason is surprised to be caught in the middle of this, is hoping for some kind of reconciliation between her parents and me, but the odds of that occurring are slender to none. Some things can never be forgiven, nor should they be. The hatred I have for those two people is always simmering to some degree, and it doesn't take to much to bring that simmer up to a full boil. There isn't much they can do to ever end up in my good graces again. In fact, earlier this week, I learned they were criticizing my parenting skills because Sam was acting up after his visit with me. Gee assholes, maybe it's because bouncing back and forth between two different families tweaks his little brain, ever think about that? Or maybe he's wondering where his dad went, and why he only gets to see him every two months?

I hope you burn in Hell, motherfuckers. I hope Satan himself rips your innards out through your assholes like sausage links and then crams them down your shrieking throats. Burn, motherfuckers, BURN.

The drop-off was a piece of work this time around. Sam and I drove up solo, no co-pilot this time, and he was a great little trooper. I brought plenty of toys and books to keep him occupied. I forgot crayons, so i stopped at a rest area to pick some up, to the tune of $8.00 for a box of 6 crayons and a small pad to draw on. The box was covered with pictures of Elmo, which added to the cost, but every parent knows what you're paying for is peace in the backseat.

We arrived in Syracuse right on time, and the Gruesome Twosome were there to meet me at the McDonalds at Cicero and Baldwin; Sam doesn't eat Mickey-D's, but they have a very large play area for him to blow off all the excess energy from sitting in a car seat for four hours.

"Hi Brendan, how's it going?" Grandpa-In-Law asked with a grin, and I muttered "fine" as briskly as I could. I wouldn't look at him, took his offered handshake with the all the vigor of wet spaghetti, and began unloading Sam's stuff as fast as I could from the back of the van.

"Here's his stroller. His clothes are in this bag; be careful, there's a new Leap Pad in there. Here's his snacks." I was practically throwing his things at them. "He ate well. Ok good, everything in there? Good, OK." I reached for Sam. "Goodbye buddy, Daddy'll see you in another few weeks." I gave him a quick kiss, got in the van and drove directly across the street to the Arby's where I sat down alone and ate some shitty fast-food. It was a "Big Beef with Cheddar" and my shits later that day were as black as ink. I don't know if Thing 1 and Thing 2 saw me pull in across the street, as they were already escorting Sam into the McDonalds, but it's a good bet they did, and I hope they know how much I hate their guts.

Have I always been this hateful and full of spite and bile? I don't think so. It's a permanent change though: I wake up feeling bitter, and it progresses through the day. There is always a chip on my shoulder, and it doesn't take much to set me off. I would so like to get back to my normal, sort-of-happy self again, but I think that person is gone for good. Thanks Melissa!

Sam comes back to Philly in about three weeks. I have to get on the stick about setting up day care, which I can't afford, for him. I still have to spend some money on holiday gifts for him. I fucking hate this time of year: all the goddamn Christians come out of the woodwork with their hypocrisy, celebrating their deity who told them to give away all that they had to the poor by buying tons of shit made by slaves in China. My particular favorite is the "They're Doing Away With Christmas" hysteria; happens every year, same dumb Christians. They complain when stores don't hang explicitly Christian decorations all over the aisles, and then when the stores finally buckle, they accuse them of "commercializing Christmas." You can't win with these jack-offs.

You wanna get me something nice for Christmas? Get me some heroin, so I can sleep through the whole fucking thing, wake me when it's over.


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