So Peak Season at work is almost at a close. I can't wait for the new year to begin. It's strange, really, how much I want 2007 to come rollin' around. It better not fuckin' let me down, is all I'm sayin'. I've never been keen on wanting time to go by faster, quite the contrary. Ever since I was a kid, I never wanted to grow older. I cried on every birthday. And it wasn't so much that I was afraid of being an adult, hell no, that always looked like fun and all... it was just, I didn't want my parents to grow old with me, and I knew they would. Then they would die, like Pifas will soon.

Speaking of 'Apa, my sister and I took him to the movies on my sister's birthday, the 23rd. Yes, the same fuckin' 23rd I had to fuckin' work, don't fuckin' remind me, it fuckin' sucked fuckin' balls. But the movie was fun ("Night at the Museum" with that Ben Stiller dude), and anyway, it was free. My sister had gotten some passes from her commander boss, so she only had to pay for one ticket. In my mind, I prefer to think she payed for mine, therefore I caused her pocket much pain and torment, mua-ha-ha-ha!

What? Hey, she causes my bank account waaaaaay more pain and torment and aggravation than I ever will to hers. That is, until I start demanding my money back in monthly installments. With ridiculously high interest rates. But that's for another time. Not now 'cause it's still "Christmas season" and shit.

Yes, yes, fond memories all. Until yesterday afternoon, that is. I got in a fight with R�le, and we yelled and everything. I don't wanna go into it here, since it was somewhat of a... aherm, fractured incident. In any case, if anyone wants to know, they can ask The Clan. Those who know what I'm talking about, know where to find them. All I will say about it here is that it really bumms me out to argue with my dad. He's dying and all that, but he's still such a fuckin' dick at times. In a way, as nuts as that sounds, it comforts me, seeing that he hasn't lost a bit of his personality despite his bleak prognosis. That means he's come to terms with it, and also, deep down inside, it kinda makes it easy for a part of me to ignore what's really happening to him. Since he doesn't act the part of dying old man and stuff. I know, it's sick, sick, sick of me and I need a reality check, but fuck off, it's not your father that's dying. It's my only bit of comfort, so I hang onto it, 'k?

That doesn't keep me from being ticked off at the guy, and it doesn't keep it from hurting. We are stubbornly not on speaking terms right now, and we probably won't be until the Dud gets back from Jersey. And that just brings me down so much, because I know our time together is numbered, and that every minute that goes by takes him further from me and closer to the morgue... but he just won't talk to me, and to be honest, I don't wanna talk to the part of him that pulled this bullshit off. I was damn near punching his old ass yesterday. *sigh* Again, I don't wanna go into this now. I'll just get more depressed. And depression plus boogers equals snotty lethargic mess, so no thank you.