Father

So my dad is getting anxiety attacks.

Yesterday, work took me up to Connecticut. A couple of weeks ago, I got to spend a night in a McMansion (but one I liked! quality workmanship and restraint, despite the 60,000 square feet for three people to call home), and, of course, that made my father nuts. This time, to the same house, but just to rehang some doors and drawer fronts. No big deal. When I arrived back in Doylestown, I called dad to let him know I was home, and he responded as he would to the news that rescue teams had found my plane that went down in the Andes and I seemed to be fine.

Which is problematic. He hates when I'm away from home. But I can't let that curtail the time I spend away from home. It just makes it harder on me when I go. Cuz he's my dad, yo.

At the same time, I've noticed that lately he has become talkative in a way I don't remember him ever being. Could it be that I've somehow managed to pierce the barrier of his narscisism? Is he actually aware on some level that I'm prone to being happy or sad, and that I'm easier to live with when I'm happy?

Huh.

And, I'm sorry to report, odd things going on with the dating thing. This guy whom I've enjoyed a few dates with called me yesterday, and he wanted to know "what are we doing."

*sigh*

We're dating. I call you, or you call me, and we make a plan for dinner and a movie, that kind of thing. He seemed largely dissatisfied with that.

Dang, Buddy. Like I wouldn't like rapture and violins, too. But we are both men in our forties. Best not to judge things by that yardstick.

I think he's gonna dump me. Which will make the second time in less than a month. Have I lost my edge? Am I getting boring? Is my brain rotting out here in the sticks as Diabolique predicted?

Or maybe these guys sense the wave of pain that I ride lately. And that scares them off. Or maybe they don't, but they do sense that I stuffing something, and they're worried by what that might be.

Could be, could be. Onward and upward.

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