Helliday Hangover

I’d like to say I sprang out of bed in a stellar mood ready to face the world now that the worst of the holiday stress is over.
It would be a lie.
I didn’t want to get up.
I still feel drained. Depressed, even.

And my charming father just had to call and inform me they saw the Donor passing out Christmas gifts, driving his shiny car, yesterday.
Um…Yeah, I get it, my baby daddy is beneath pond scum, not a shocker. He hasn’t so much as sent his own daughter a card for Christmas in three years. I know the slimeball well.
I’ve asked dad numerous times to just not tell me when he sees the donor around town.
My life is much happier if I just pretend he’s dead. He doesn’t want to take care of his daughter or do the right thing yet still believes he is a good man. He may as well be dead.
For whatever reason, Dad feels the need to tell me every time he sees the douche. Oh, he’s got a good job. Oh, he’s got a shiny car better than yours…
Big fuckin’ deal.
It’s like he’s telling me my daughter would be better off with the donor because he has better stuff.
I know it’s not meant that way, he’s outraged (and he should be because he thought the donor walked on water). It’s just…I know what the donor is.
I don’t need to hear about it all the time.
He’s abandoned three kids. It’s who he is and it has nothing to do with us.
So shut the fuck up, dad.
I’ll take my less than shiny car and not being able to shower others with gifts because at least I am genuine. My kid comes first.

Needless to say, that took a low mood into the fury filled gutter. People really are like poison to me. No one wants to give positive news. No, let’s just shove all the negative at her then wonder why she’s a depressed pessimist.
R sent a text inquiring about my Christmas. I am ignoring it. Because I sent him a text the other day touching base and he ignored me. Quid pro fucking quo. I have really outgrown that whole acquaintanceship. I’ve grown as a person. He’s the same asshole he always was.
I can’t continue to grow if I am bogged down by people who won’t stop holding my past against me to cover up the fact they haven’t changed a bit.

God, it sucks, to go from nice and mellow to being all bent and hostile. If my dad had just kept his mouth shut, I’d have ignored R and felt entitled to return what he gives. But noo, now I am feeling all inferior because I don’t have a shiny car and a bunch of friends who buy my lies so I can shower them with gifts.
Because I am too busy supporting a child and taking what we can get to stay afloat.
Life doesn’t suck until I feel the pressure from the outside world to be something I’m not.
Even if I had money, I wouldn’t be the shiny car buying people off to be my friend type.
His fakeness was what had fueled my disdain for him. He was Spook’s sperm donor even when he was here and too tired from work to be bothered with her beyond a hello.

I have to shake it off. Things aren’t that bad. I am just having a bad reaction to people who have the sensitivity of belly button lint.
Not to mention the emotional intelligence of a squid.

So the mood swims in the gutter and the anxiety rolls off me in waves. What’s new.

I just wish I knew a way to “shake it off.”
They say exercise.
Ha.
That just makes me feel things more intensely.

If Satan, er Santa (damn dyslexia) really loved me, he’d have brought me a keg. No beer, though. Nasty.
Cake vodka…That should totally come in a keg.

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One Response to “Helliday Hangover”

  1. Ugh. .. deadbeat dads …

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