![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
RTT deactivated his Facebook account.
I learned about this by noticing that he had TAKEN ME OFF HIS FRIENDS LIST and flying into a fury about it. Since we do our only "communicating" on Facebook (note the quotation marks), it felt like a slap in the face. I'm always on quicksand with that kid, and I've finally gotten tired of it. I'm sorry my business failed! I'm sorry your father ditched me as soon as he figured out I couldn't support him in the (admittedly) minimalist style to which he had become accustomed! I did the best I fucking could with very little assistance from anyone!!!!!
But apparently it wasn't a swipe at me personally, so I have backed off the anger, even though I still think he's a unmannerly little twit who ignores communication attempts and can't be bothered to initiate them on his own.
Really, I suppose, the rewards on parenting come years later when children pick the rest home where they will warehouse Mom and Dad. Does it have flush toilets? Do the attendants speak English? How many flavors of Jello are on the menu?
I have the opportunity to make Big Bucks this month, but it involves writing sprightly prose about auto parts for a catalog reseller. The Honda Accord Body Lowering Kit! The Ford FS3 Fuel Pump! Beggars cannot be choosers.
I also went to the movies last night with the crazy Israeli neighbor who annoyed the shit out of me by singing along to the (bad) incidental music in the (bad) Clint Eastwood baseball movie, and then regaling me with tales of her carefree girlhood in Trinidad. I wanted to push her under the wheels of an oncoming car, but couldn't see any material advantage to me in doing so other than getting her to STF up (more easily accomplished by transporting myself in my imagination to a No Man's Land Dust Bowl storm), so I forbore.
It is a grey day. It is a very grey day. And cold. I don't want to call back Ronnie, the Iranian Jew, and arrange another meeting. I don't want to meet Peter-the-lawyer-who-LUVS-Fellini-and-lives-in-Mineola. I want to go back in time and talk about The Worst Hard Times with Ben or Abe or someone I used to love.
I learned about this by noticing that he had TAKEN ME OFF HIS FRIENDS LIST and flying into a fury about it. Since we do our only "communicating" on Facebook (note the quotation marks), it felt like a slap in the face. I'm always on quicksand with that kid, and I've finally gotten tired of it. I'm sorry my business failed! I'm sorry your father ditched me as soon as he figured out I couldn't support him in the (admittedly) minimalist style to which he had become accustomed! I did the best I fucking could with very little assistance from anyone!!!!!
But apparently it wasn't a swipe at me personally, so I have backed off the anger, even though I still think he's a unmannerly little twit who ignores communication attempts and can't be bothered to initiate them on his own.
Really, I suppose, the rewards on parenting come years later when children pick the rest home where they will warehouse Mom and Dad. Does it have flush toilets? Do the attendants speak English? How many flavors of Jello are on the menu?
I have the opportunity to make Big Bucks this month, but it involves writing sprightly prose about auto parts for a catalog reseller. The Honda Accord Body Lowering Kit! The Ford FS3 Fuel Pump! Beggars cannot be choosers.
I also went to the movies last night with the crazy Israeli neighbor who annoyed the shit out of me by singing along to the (bad) incidental music in the (bad) Clint Eastwood baseball movie, and then regaling me with tales of her carefree girlhood in Trinidad. I wanted to push her under the wheels of an oncoming car, but couldn't see any material advantage to me in doing so other than getting her to STF up (more easily accomplished by transporting myself in my imagination to a No Man's Land Dust Bowl storm), so I forbore.
It is a grey day. It is a very grey day. And cold. I don't want to call back Ronnie, the Iranian Jew, and arrange another meeting. I don't want to meet Peter-the-lawyer-who-LUVS-Fellini-and-lives-in-Mineola. I want to go back in time and talk about The Worst Hard Times with Ben or Abe or someone I used to love.
