It Figures.....

As my pop's senility takes a firmer grasp of his sensibilities and he becomes a crankier individual on a daily basis, my life becomes a living nightmare that centers around the crotchety old git with the nasty temper. It's truly awesome when he lashes out at the closest person around him, which is usually me, and I get to hear the tirade and diatribe about how he hates everything, but most of all, me.

Most days I am able to walk away and ignore the old git, but there is only so much that can go "unheard" before the last straw. I've learned to point out what pop is doing and ask him what he thinks about what he's saying. It shuts him up much faster than unleashing a verbal tirade riddled with mutli-lingual cuss words. Yes, there are times that the english language alone doesn't provide enough explicit words to adequately describe what want to say, so I have to resort to using more than just one language.

I still do the tirade on occasion, but it seems that pointing out the old man's flaws is far more silencing than just going on a tirade of my own. I mean, it's hard to argue when you're not only battling someone, but also your greatest enemy at the same time. Yes. Your greatest enemy is yourself and the flaws you see in yourself. And when they are made so GLARINGLY obvious, that you can't ignore it, the fight starts to leave you, doesn't it. You can't exactly fight yourself, can you.

There are people who will fight to hide and ignore all their faults and pretend they don't exist. Deny, deny, deny. It'll eventually come to bite you in the ass and run away with your kidney, your spleen and some other crucial and rather vital organs. There are those like myself who have acknowledged that there are flaws and are starting to fix them. Then there are saints. Weird thing is, most people are so fucking delusional, they only see themselves as saints. Totally cool though. The bigger they are, the harder they fall and smashing the pedestal that they stand upon is so easy and it's fun to watch them come crashing back down to reality, covered in the bullshit that their pedestal was made from. Enter my pop.

Of course, my mom will always continue to make the excuses for my pop and tells me I should take back what I say and tells me he didn't mean to say it (again...) but no more. Even she knows not to tangle with me. She hates being told how wrong she is even more than pop does. It must be hard enough for her to look in the mirror most days, look at herself and know what she truly is, I guess she doesn't need another reminder from her daughter.... Her martyrdom is brought into question way too often and she can't handle the truth! (Said a la Jack Nicholson in that movie)

There will come a day someday soon that I will leave my parents' house for the last time and look back on this place no more. The final frayed end to be cut off. Until then, I'm not going to put up with this shit and I'm not going to take the brunt of the burden into my own lap. I refuse to make it more difficult for myself living in this pit by biting my tongue as I bide my time. Nope. I want to start breathing a little easier.