I just spent some time with my father. A few minutes. I miss him. What I mean by that is, he is so often a monster, against my mother, his wife, yelling and abusing her. And even me he yells at, infrequently but within the last year he has a few times. I’m his favorite, in the family, out of the three brothers of us and mom. He likes talking to me. But we looked at his fish tanks that he installed into the kitchen island. He bought like four fish tanks at one point and middle brother got so angry at him, wasting precious space in our small house. Causing disorder in the shuffle. But on the other hand, it’s kind of nice to have fish. I think one large tank would have sufficed. He has about that many fish. All small. But just being with him, he is my father, and I realized that, I don’t often realize that. He is my father, and I love him. And I often hate him, and don’t think about him with love, but for some reason now I am doing that. I am so cold. I am such a cold person. He talks my ear off and I have to walk away. That is normal. I can’t stand forever.

I don’t know. I don’t like him when he’s not normal. Weirdness is uniqueness in disguise, but like, abuse for example, isn’t cool. Ruining the house isn’t the end of the world but also not nice.

I don’t know. I miss him. I don’t know what that means. He’s right downstairs.

Mom is bitching at me like it’s not safe to follow the advice of two doctors. Like they don’t know what they’re doing. Fuck. Mom is an expert, after browsing a few science papers in an hour, and doctors who have studied for ten years, aren’t. She is so entitled. Such a haughty, pretentious bitch.

Parents. I don’t know. I am thinking about their mortality. And that discomfits me. I don’t like it.

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