Bottled Up

After an absentee week that lead to a drop in productivity, I finally picked my arse up and went to New York. I figured Massachusetts had caught me in a spell so I forced myself to wake up early. I really almost didn't go again, but I did not want to break a promise to my mother. And my vanity pushed me further since it was my last time to get a haircut before my new job.

So today has been building steam. I did get that haircut and shave (before and after for your consideration), did a bit of shopping, and watched the decent American Gangster. And I made plans to drop in and hang with my sister, so I'm rather cheery even though the gray followed me to the city.

So I stop home to drop off stuff and run errands before seeing my sister, and I say hi to my dad who is doing chores in the house before Sabbath. Then I hear him call me and when I go, he opens his arms for a hug. We embrace, and he begins to cry. I couldn't believe it. Totally unprovoked. But it was only the beginning of a minor explosion of emotions. Fears of my prospects, hurt over my secrecy in my relations with my sister, jealousy over my relationship with my mom, just everything came tumbling out. I'm really glad I am having a good day.

Instead of railing into him, I kind of went into a therapeutic mode I normally only occupy at work. And I spoke of my grad school plans, explained my discretion, promised improved father-son relations and let him know everything was alright. But if I was in doubt before, it is crystal clear that the man is broken.

In the introduction to my initial blog, I mentioned that my objectie in life was not to be my father, hoping to avoid confusion and tunnel vision. I still have the same desire not to share his destiny, but now it is just because he is so utterly unhappy. I never want to be that sad. It is absolutely poisonous. For the last four years, I've watched it accelerate his death. I just can't go out like that.