Paterfamilias

As those who Twit will know from yesterday's outburst, DUI Dad, ever competitive, has once again decided to imbibe and drive. It's a clever combination really, particularly when one is awaiting trial for the same action from a mere two weeks prior.

My brother got a phone call to say that Dad was in the hospital, though naturally the hospital could not tell C what happened. When he spoke to my Dad, he was still under the influence and couldn't stop apologising. He also couldn't stop apologising to C the first time, all those days ago. C, like me, is getting increasingly fed up.

I was thinking about this situation today on a fairly long walk to a meeting. The sheer clusterfuckedness of it is a bit overwhelming, and as I expressed in my previous DUI Dad post, I don't know where I stand on the issue of a support. This is a man who survived a tour of Vietnam, the unfortunate origin of his life's problems. He has spent the past 40 years trying to overcome those issues with varying success. Formerly a cop, he disappeared with his service pistol about 12-13 years ago. It was all over the news, our unique last name boldly marking his connection to my family. Luckily I was out of high school by that point, but C wasn't. I don't know how much it affected him at the time, but I don't imagine it's the best situation for a 14 year old to be in.

My parents split up after a protracted period of awkward silence and oblique allusions to "meetings" my Dad failed to attend. I forget how old I was, 17 perhaps? My Dad thought the best thing to do was to drop out of our lives completely while he sorted himself out. I supported this decision, more or less, because I thought he was just trying to protect us. In my angry moments, such as the time I ran into him at McDonald's and he blithely asked, "So what are you doing these days - are you in college?", I thought he should be able to put his role as a father before that of a recovering alcoholic, depressed gambling addict. I wanted to be understanding, forgiving, despite his sudden (and eventually quite lengthy) absence from my life. I wanted to be fair even though his addictions led him to drain my college fund completely, stranding me very last minute at a community college when I had planned on going away to school.

In writing this, I wonder why I'm so quick to forgive. Now, as a parent, I can't imagine allowing my personal issues to supercede the well-being as a child. I'm aware that addictions and depression construct an irrational sense of self, but again, when do the excuses stop? When do you have to pull yourself together and get the help that you so obviously require?

I read a post over at Dead Bug's this week that resonated with me to the point that I felt completely raw and exposed. This, this is my fear. The last two paragraphs left me in a teary mess at my desk, and they are having the exact same effect now, re-reading the post. I'm afraid to push him away, because what if he submits to it all? What if, after all these years of fighting back and losing ground in equal measure, he decides that he hasn't the spirit to fight anymore? I am then left with about 16 years of good memories of the Dad I knew then, mixing with the mess that his later life became.

I sometimes struggle to reconcile the two people, as they seem like separate entities entirely. There was the Dad who suffered immensely, but quietly, and there is the one that I have nicknamed DUI Dad to lighten the oppressive tone this sort of subject matter involves. The Dad of my childhood started to dissolve when he left, and re-emerged in the past five years or so as he made a concerted effort to be involved in our lives. Here we find ourselves again, watching the former Dad slip away again.

Not too long ago I posted a Philip Larkin poem entitled "This Be the Verse". At that time I was talking about my influence in my own child's life, wondering if what Larkin said is true:
They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

I'm consistently worried that I'm not raising P as well as I could be, but I also know that I will never put her in the position that I (and C as well) are in now. It's amazing how quickly you realise what a good parent you are when your own parent is fucked up beyond the point of return. I may pass on to her my love of looking at houses on the internet, or my habit of getting perhaps a bit too emotional in an argument, but she will never have to worry about whether I will drink myself to death, get in an accident which kills innocent people, or go to jail. "They fuck you up" indeed.

Freeze frame

This might just be my lucky year. The Dude told me today that if I complete an official 10K run, he will buy me a pair of Christian Louboutins that I can lick, hump, or otherwise be inappropriate with due to their sheer aesthetic appeal. I feel as if I should run everywhere now just to prepare, because if losing weight is a pleasing side effect of running, the promise of Louboutins is enough to turn me to into a marathon runner. Speaking of running, I have stuck my Nike+ stats in the sidebar. This is not to be a braggart, because if you have a look at it there is nothing to brag about. I am, however, proud that I have come this far and wanted some flair to put up to show it off a bit. Yes, millions of people run much faster and much longer distances, but 15-20K a week isn't too bad for someone who just started running again after a 10+ year draught.

The Dude, made of money and full of philanthropic spirit it seems, has also offered to buy me a camera for Christmas. I have a silly little silver thing which insists upon me putting the flash on for every single photo lest I want it marred with blurryness. It was fine at first, but I'm starting to enjoy my very casual photography and want to enhance the experience. I would love for my photos of P to be less zombie-like, as most of them are beseiged by the washed out harshness of the flash with the added bonus of red eyes. Many of you are amazing photographers, so teach me, oh wise ones. I don't have a massive budget, what with the shoe commitment and all. For the British amongst you, we're talking about £300. Americans, depending on the variable rate of exchange and the cost of material goods over there, maybe about $500. Please, please, save me from the evil of the flash. Don't make my child grow up with red eyes.

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There is a new post up at Swallow the Key. Please feel free to comment, as I'm sure Anonymous would appreciate some feedback, even if it is to tell him/her how much it all sucks. Remember, if you want to make your own submissions, email me at swallowthekeyblog at gmail dot com. There are no secret irons in the fire, so give me some blog fodder!

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Apropos of nothing, but as suitable an ending for this post as any, I must tell you this P-ism from a couple of weeks ago.

P: scribbling on a newspaper I draw Johnny Cash.

Pausing, contemplating, scribbling some more

P: Oh. He's a snail now.

I frickin' love this kid.

Music Monday: Soundtracks

I've stolen the ideas of others lately for my themes, so this week, I'm going it alone. HOWEVER, I will be relying on audience participation, in a way. You are under no obligation to comment here, as I fully acknowledge that Music Mondays are about absorbing the music, not necessarily discussing it. The theme this week is soundtracks, and because I'm cheesy and also rather curious, I want to know what the soundtrack is to your life. I don't mean that you have to choose a song to go along with specific events, though if you want to, knock yourselves out. If you had a film made about your life, what songs would be on the soundtrack? Note - they do not need to be songs from soundtracks.

I won't bother doing my own version of this, since that's pretty much what every MM is (speaking of MM - whatever happened to MM over at Limbo Party? God, how I loved that woman), so I'll just give you some of my favourite songs from soundtracks.

The Red Violin - I loooooove this film. If you haven't seen it, please rent it, buy it, steal it. Prostitute yourself to gain the funds to purchase it. Whatever. Just do it. While you're at it, buy the soundtrack. Amazing.





Trainspotting - This movie is the 90s for me. Sigh.

Lou Reed: Perfect Day


O Brother Where Art Thou?strong> - Knowing my love for bluegrass and Americana music, you had to know I'd mention this. Also, Coen Brothers? Love.

Ralph Stanley: O Death


Alison Krauss & Gillian Welch: I'll Fly Away


In Good Company - I stayed up and watched this last week as per The Guardian's recommendation, and I do whatever that newspaper tells me to do. Not bad for this genre (romantic dramedy-type), and I was couldn't determine whether I found Topher Grace really hot, or wear-your-scalp-as-a-wig creepy. I'm still pondering this most important issue.

Iron & Wine: Naked As We Came


Pretty in Pink - Sixteen Candles is actually my favourite Hughes film, but this is a fabulous soundtrack. Allow me to take you back...

OMD: If You Leave


Magnolia - A three hour movie with Tom Cruise? I thought it would be a definite recipe for disaster, but I really like Magnolia. I also see it's almost 10 years old. Shit.

Aimee Mann: Save Me


The Sweet Hereafter - an achingly beautiful film which you shouldn't watch if in a delicate emotional state. Certainly worth watching though, especially if you're a Sarah Polley fan like me.

Sarah Polley: Courage (Tragically Hip cover)


South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut - This was a struggle for me. Oh, how to decide between "Kyle's Mom's a Big Fat Bitch", "What Would Brian Boitano Do?", and "Blame Canada"? I've gone with "Uncle Fucka", because I sing this song to myself sometimes because it's just so durn catchy.



The Last of the Mohicans - My Mom adores this movie, and will, without a doubt, say something along the lines of, "I love how they show such intimacy without all of that sex and nudity like you see in other movies!" In fact, I might make her watch the DVD when she visits over Christmas just to test this theory. I will report back.

Mom's love of this film aside, it's a good movie with a great soundtrack, and lots of partially clad hot pieces of ass. The last scene (included in the video below) is horrible, but beautifully shot.



Requiem for a Dream - This is such a great movie, but I never want to see it again. I watched it on my own years ago, late at night. When it finished, I sat there staring at the blank TV screen, not quite sure what to do next. I am not exaggerating in the slightest when I say that I was depressed for days after I saw this. Days. If you haven't seen it, you should, just have vodka and Prozac at the ready - an endless supply.

Kronos Quartet: Lux Aeterna (you'll probably recognise this from every film trailer made after Requiem was released)



Juno - no commentary needed here. We all know the kerfuffle that resulted from this movie's release last year. Yikes.

Kimya Dawson: So Nice, So Smart


Anyone Else But You: Michael Cera and Ellen Page (because I just love this boy)


Cold Mountain - Because I just can't get away from this old timey music. Also, could someone please just agree with me and confirm how very woefully miscast Nicole Kidman was as Ada? She was dreadful. I think about how much better the movie could have been without her detached, frigid self. HATE.

Cassie Franklin: Lady Margret


Tim Eriksen: I Wish My Baby Was Born


No playlist this week I'm afraid. So tired, so little time, etc etc.

So, with that out of the way, please tell me your own personal soundtrack. You can leave comments here, or you can even do your own whole blog post about it. I've even set up this fancy thing so you can link to your own post here. Hopefully it works. All you need to do is put in your Blog Title where it asks for your name, and the permalink in the second segment, et voila. Well, I assume et voila. We shall see.

Fast as you can

So much for that whole staying-away-from-blogging malarky. I'm actually better today, and thanks for your comments. The Dude bought me flowers yesterday, and also, because he is a high-flyer, had a talk with someone in the university who is going to nose around to see why I wasn't shortlisted for this most recent job. The silver lining, if there is such a thing, is that the head of the department to which I applied is a bitch of epic proportions if The Dude's source is correct. As in, numerous mass exoduses of staff within the past handful of years. Not good. From one bad manager to another, so maybe it's for the better. How very Zen of me. Don't get all excited thinking I'm cured of my malaise by the way, I mustn't get complacent and assume that everything is now butterflies and gooey chocolate cake magnificence. It's a better day, and that's at least a start.

I'm blogging again for a very important reason - a time sensitive one. Kate, a fellow Couch to 5K convert, came up with a marvellous idea that I completely elbowed my way in on. Simply put, awhile back we both said enough was enough and got our lumpy asses moving. We both chose Couch to 5K, and wouldn't you know it, we've stuck with it. Kate is an asthmatic ex-smoker, I'm an ex-ex-athlete and decade-long lazy sod, yet here we are, now running 5Ks numerous times a week. Not too long ago Kate told me about Nike+ipod, which is pretty much the best invention ever next to the banana guard.

Nike+ipod allows you to put a sensor in/on your shoe which communicates to a transmitter plugged into your iPod when you're exercising. It monitors all sorts of magical things - pace, distance, calories burned, time, proximity to unicorns, etc. You then plug in your ipod at home, et voila! Graphs, charts, it's an OCDers dream!

Running blah Couch to 5K blah yadda yadda yadda, I know. HOWEVER, keep paying attention ladies (and a gent or two) because Kate and I are uniting to give away one of these here doohickeys. Neither one of us is independently wealthy or of a particularly philanthropic nature, so we're not buying you an iPod, but one lucky endeavoring soul will have one of these handy contraptions purchased for them. I see Kate has not excluded non-walkers/runners, and said that the gift bestowed upon the winner will be in the form of an Amazon gift card at the estimated value of the nike+ kit and holder. All you need to do is leave a comment here telling me what makes you happy (a relevant theme given the darkest night of the soul stuff going on around here lately). Alternatively, you can leave the same information at Kate's.

This is completely Kate's idea, so all credit must go to her. I thought I'd help her out a bit since I'm feeling the same way about running, at least on the days that I'm not a miseryguts. Yesterday's low point would no doubt have been even lower if I was still the same portly gal I was just 3 months ago. At least running has given me something to be positive about, and I have not been the least bit positive about my body in years. I know how good that feels, and I would love to help someone else find that in themselves again.

Oh yes, and I almost forgot, Kate and I are on a team of 2 on Nike+ which is by invitation only. If you have (or will have!) a nike+ kit, email Kate or leave a comment on her blog for an invite and she'll hook you up. It's just a casual way of inspiring and motivating ourselves, nothing sinister or overpowering. We won't pour a bucket of goat's blood over you if you don't run far enough, unless you want us to of course.

So yes, happiness. Some of you are cheery little buggers, but even the more melancholy amongst you must have some periods of light. What are they? You only have until Friday to tell me, so click through and say something. Anything. Bring back the butterflies and gooey chocolate cake.

I See a Darkness

I've typed and deleted about six paragraphs in the past 25 minutes. I want to write fluidly and coherently about how vacant I feel, but it is all a jumble of silly words and teenage diary calibre histrionics. I'm going to dispense of any and all pretense of clarity and attempts at trying to write properly because I just give up.

I am so tired of my entire body existing in a state of constant tension because I hate my job and hate my godforsaken incompetent shrew of a "boss". I am frustrated that my own organisation doesn't think I'm good enough to succeed in a higher position, but most of all, this just makes me sad. Sad that I have drive, initiative, appropriate professional background, but that it seems to make no difference. I then worry that perhaps I'm not as good as I think I am after all, which is an admission that I'm not quite willing to make.

I hate that I don't ever have an hour's relief from anxiety weighing so heavily on me that I make myself sick. I hate that I can't get anything done, ever, and that any task I complete has been about 6 weeks in the making. I hate the fact that I have made an attempt to be physically fit for the first time in 10 years, yet my overpowering sense of defeat in all aspects of my life has worn me down too much to bother running on most days. I hate how I thought running would be the magic balm to my emotional ills like the doctor told me it would be.

I hate that I am here typing this post instead of spending time with my daughter. As I'm tapping away, she's sitting in her room listening to nursery rhymes and paging through books alone. I'm here because I know if I'm not, I'm probably losing my patience and praying for bedtime.

One of the most humiliating aspects of all of this is one which you'd hope I'd be smart enough to say under the veil of anonymity on Swallow the Key - I rely far too much on blogging to keep me happy. I worry about traffic, I worry about comments, I worry about popularity based on the previous factors, and it's just tragic. I spend so much of my real life masking how I feel, that to have this form of release is addicting. It says far too much about my lack of self-esteem, and I feel as if I should go beat myself with sticks for even making this imaginary world my real one. I have long said that I don't have many female friends because I can't tolerate all of The Drama, yet here I am wallowing in it.

I'm not entirely sure why I've even bothered with all of this. I don't know what anyone can say to make the situation any different. I've thought about stepping out for awhile, release myself from the need for validation through twittering and blogging, but we shall see how (un)successful I am at such an endeavour. I want to tell myself to shut the fuck up already, I can't imagine how you must feel. Ugh, the emotion! The wailing! The hand-wringing!

The drama endeth here.