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I'm sitting on the bus, reflecting on the 3 Fringe Festival shows I'd seen, glancing at the headshot that Andre, my photographer, presented to me with my name on it, and it all seemed to block out the earlier part of my day. I honestly don't know what's wrong with my dad. It's like he's toxic or something. There are some people who have their insecurities, quirks, anxieties, hot buttons, all bunched up in their emotionally toxic baggage, and the only way they express themselves is to unconsciously dump this upon them, whoever is around them. Whoever is in their group dynamic, becomes their target. My dad is the fisherman while I'm the fish, ignoring his bait that would hook me into pointless arguments. He's the drama queen of the family, he's the tornado to our little trailer park, he's the bug to our windshield. I've even had fantasies of shouting at him, raising the roof with my hollering to stop belittling me, frightening him, wrestling him against the wall as we tussle and tumble. I do get mad, but I always bottle it up inside: it's my way of staying in control, while he pollutes the home with his, falsely gaining control. Anger is a weapon, but it comes in many shapes, sizes and disguises. Mine's a red beast, caged up in my uterus once a month, screaming at me to burst out, but I restrain it, saying that it'll be the loser once let out. It's not healthy to push it all down like I do. I feel like I've got so much of it unexpressed that I could barf. Funny: the parent that provokes so much negative emotion gets the most wording in my diary. I love my mom, she's one of my favorite people, yet she gets less mention in here. Sometimes, I imagine how I'd handle her death, because when I come to terms with that inevitable reality, it's painful to think about. Sometimes it brings tears, yet I conceal it when I know someone is saying mean things about her, just to get a reaction out of me. You know, when someone knows how to get to you, or is trying to find your weak spot, and when they do, you act like it doesn't matter. Some idiot, last year, said, "Is your mom dead?", after I mentioned a favorite bag she gave me. I already was aware of where he was coming from, so I was immune to him. Anyway, I digress. I saw 3 Fringe shows, and all were good. With live performances, I always wish I were on stage. My mind is conjuring up ideas for me to do for next years festival, but I do nothing. My dad's poisonous words of discouragement take over my thinking, and I contemplate GOING BACK TO SCHOOL!!! I was never a good student. I hate school. If I do go back, it's to study more drama, theatre, film acting, anything I'm interested in. Although, before I went to see the shows, this guy had a table displaying his chain-mail, and we chatted, and he gave me his card about future workshops. I don't know where my future is going, really. I may go on like this for the rest of my life. Even if I was obedient for my dad, my life would still be gray and lack-luster, I'd still cry out for fulfillment. I'd be watching more TV and movies, seeing actor friends from Vancouver flit by the screen, agitating my long discarded hopes of having the job I've always wanted and cared about, doing what I really want. While Soaking in Lavendar... - Saturday, Apr. 06, 2019 He Reminded Me of An Incident Years Ago - Monday, Feb. 04, 2019 My Rose-Coloured Glasses are Smashed & I Don’t Want Them Anymore - Sunday, Feb. 03, 2019 It’s Been Awhile - Saturday, Feb. 02, 2019 I Never Needed You. - Thursday, Nov. 27, 2014
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