The Scene Opens:
The man is a little tipsy from a few beers too many. What is a man to do when his favorite beverage is so affordable? He reaches for the phone after much deliberation. He begins to dial, hesitates, grabs a fresh bottle and proceeds to dial again.
He puts his ear to the phone and waits with baited breath.
Three rings too many.
“Hi, you’ve reached Amber and Michael. We can’t take your call at the moment so please leave a message – beep”
He takes a deep breath.
“Hey, G’day there. It’s a ten to nine, or so, here. I haven’t talked to you in a bit – quite a while actually. We kinda missed you guys when you left, and I haven’t talked to you since. I know you heard the news already, so uh, you’re probably getting ticked now that I haven’t phoned yet and actually told you officially, right? So. anyways, ya, we’re hitched. I’ve got a ring on my finger. So, ah, anyways give me a shout too sometime, I don’t know, uh. I can – I can– We’ll get to talk to you soon, we’ll talk to you later. Bye.”
And he hang up.
You’re fucking right I’m pissed. But for so much more than you could ever understand. You are such a small man to me now.
Amber @ 9:42 pm [ comment ]My father got married a few days ago. To the Operatic Bimbo.
I still haven’t been officially told about the engagement.
Nor have I been officially informed of the marriage.
For that matter, my sisters (who live in the same small town as him, mere minutes from his house)were not told of the wedding, invited, or officially informed after wards.
They found out about it from my sisters coworkers, because my father took his bride, and witnesses, to the restaurant where she works at after the ‘blessed’ affair.
I’m hurt, but they are in tears…and that is unacceptable.
Amber @ 7:43 pm [ comment ]I’ve created an elite clique UnShut. If you are interested, go have a looksee.
In other digestible news, I’ve not been able to sleep well recently. I believe that I’ve gotten no greater than 3 hours sleep per night for the last week. Though I loathe admitting it, I may need to buy some sort of chemical cure for this. No sleep is not conducive to being a Normal, Functioning, Office Dweller. Bah.
I’ve been posting a lot more personal journal entries in my livejournal, which is friends only for a good reason. A few things in this real life of mine that I need to sort out if I wish to accomplish my few goals that are beginning to loom in front of me. How dull and full of angsty cliches.
Quick, someone tell me the easiest way to quit smoking that doesn’t involve ingesting pill type things.
Amber @ 11:04 pm [ 1 comment ]In place of my own thoughts, I bring you the lyrics to one of the saddest songs I know. One that makes me think of the past with a teary eye, but no regret. It took me a long time to be able to do that. These things happened for a reason, and at least I have a song to remember you by.
Beautiful child
Beautiful child
You are a beautiful child
And I am a fool once more
You fell in love when I was only ten
The years disappeared
Much has gone by since then
I bite my lip, can you send me away
You touch
I have no choice
I have to stay
I had to stay
Sleepless child
There is so little time
Your eyes say yes
But you don’t say yes
I wish that you were mine
You say it will be harder in the morning
I wait for you to say, just go
Your hands, held mine so few hours
And I’m not a child anymore
I’m not a child anymore
I’m tall enough
To reach for the stars
I’m old enough
To love you from afar
To trusting… yes?
But then women usually are
I’m not a child anymore
No, I’m not a child, oh no
Tall enough to reach for the stars
I will do
As I’m told
Even if I never hold you again
I never hold you again
Dad,
For so many years I’ve looked up to you for all you’ve done for me. Took me in when my mother proved to be a total nutjob, even though I wasn’t your true blood. Kept me around with your two REAL daughters, and raised me as your own. Teaching me strength and independence, which would shortly come in handy when I was no longer allowed to live ‘under your roof’ and moved out on my own. Giving me a sense of security in the fact that it IS ok for me to look down on some people, the ones that bring me down, the ones who refuse to live up to their potential. Helping me come to terms with my own definition of ‘cool’ when so many around me looked to their peers instead.
I came to realize a few things after my trip to see you and the family.
You have no photos of me displayed on your walls. You have your other two daughters. Your dim-witted girlfriend. Your nephew and son-in-law. Pictures of a dog that your friend left in your care when he fled the law after attempting to shoot his wife in a grocery store. You have photos of fish, deer, bears, and various other forms of wildlife you enjoy killing and eating. Images of your favorite places and faces. I’m not one of them. Perhaps this is nothing for me to be up in arms about, but when it is combined with the following, it breaks my heart….
Years ago, I was being silly with a friend of mine, and we were calling one of those ‘party’ phone lines…you know the ones, where the women talk for free and the men pay money to talk to the women? Ya, well we were drunk and stupid one night and listening to the male callers profiles. That’s when I came across yours. You were on the phone line at the same time, therefore your profile was there for all free-loading women to hear. I listened. I don’t remember much of it, and the only part that sticks out is where you mentioned that you were a father of two daughters. Now, I’ve never claimed to be the world’s most brilliant mathematician…But 1+1+1=3, at least in my mind.
Apparently not in yours.
So is this the way it is? I’m not your ‘daughter’ per say, more like your side project that helped you become a BETTER father for YOUR daughters? I’m not kidding when I mentioned early that my heart is broken over this. It truly is. I spent my life talking you up to others around. Putting you into some sort of imaginary super hero costume, coming into my life and rescuing me from the inevitable torment that my life may have been filled with had my mother taken me with her.
I spoke with Michael about this last night. About how I have many decisions to make in my life, and how I’m not sure where you fit in anymore. I’ve done all I can. Despite where I have come from and the life I had to choose, I have done pretty fucking well for myself. I’m not shy or humble enough to deny that I’ve done amazingly well. And for a good portion of this life, all I’ve wanted was for you to say that you were proud of me. That you were impressed with what I’ve accomplished. But that never happened.
Sure, your daughters who had EVERY opportunity that I didn’t have turned out ok [I’m not jealous, I love my sisters and I’m glad that they have good lives filled with love]. One gave you a grandson at a young age and the other married a man that is so great, you’d be hard-pressed to find better.
What did I do? I bet if I asked you that, you wouldn’t even be able to give me a list of three things. I managed to get into a company and field that I knew nothing about, and based on my own intelligence and abilities, managed to move up within the organization. I’ve gone from a receptionist to a very integral part of the company within what, almost four years? I’ve got an assistant, Dad. I’ve got an office with a view. I’ve got a great amazing man at my side with three wonderful pets. I have a world of experiences behind me, and an even bigger world ahead. I’ve seen and done things that you will never have the opportunity to do. Hell, I moved away from Ottawa, which is more than you ever did. You don’t even remember to call me on my birthday, the anniversary of our first meeting or Christmas. My sisters have to remind you of that.
I’ve tried for years to do, say, accomplish something that would make you sit up and take notice. Something that would make you say to those around you, ‘This is my daughter, and I love her’. Something. Anything. Nothing.
So, keeping in tune with the type of person I am…I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up. Trying to be perfect for you is killing me. I will no longer reach out to you in hopes of getting some sort of emotional breadcrumb.
Regards,
Amber.
Amber 2005 & Thereafter
