Follow-up

In these "My Dad is a Jerk" moments, I've tended to glare or forcefully introduce my foot to his shin. Yes, they are frequent enough for a pattern to have developed. This time I did nothing but walk away. He remains clueless. Not like my saying or doing anything in response would have made any difference. It never has.

I have been on the verge of texting Counselor since after church yesterday. This conversation took place Saturday night, not two centuries ago as Patrick wondered. I could not shake the awful feeling. In fact, it held me until well into today, when I suddenly couldn't breathe and felt queasy. Woohoo!

I'm better now. Been consciously breathing for hours, and my insides calmed down when I took a walk during my lunch. Guess I won't send the message, after all. I see her tomorrow. We'll talk then.

I don't really know why this hit me so hard. I don't want my dad's crappy jokes to have so much power over me. That's just idiotic.

On the other hand, all y'all's comments cracked me up. PBJ's most of all. The mental image is just hilarious. "With your permission we will hold him very still and swat his nose with a rolled up newspaper." Those of you who know my dad, tell me you didn't just about bust a seam there.