Bitterness.

I'm so rarely bitter about anything, so I really need to purge this out and get over it.

Even though, really, it has to do with my father, and bitterness about daddy's has been known to haunt even the best of us for the length of our lives.

The house that we rent is owned by a sweet little old lady who's decided she wants to sell it, and obviously we're the easiest and most acceptable possible buyers. When this arises, my dad tells me, of course your mom can get financed and get the house. I, on the other hand, am logical, and point out that my mother now only makes around $600 a month and that the bulk of our household income on paper comes from me, so even if there was a lender that could overlook our credit, I'd have to be on the mortgage for the financing to fly.

He commences to tell me how I'm dumb. Don't know what I'm talking about. And really, where did I learn about home financing anyway? Geez, the audacity of daughters. THINKING AT ALL.

And what happens this morning? He pulls me into the kitchen and tells me we need to sit down and talk about buying the house and says, no, I'm not kidding, that this is something any good daughter would do to help secure a house for her mother and I need to go with my mother to the realtor today to start the paperwork because I'll need to be on the mortgage.

I look at him, waiting for an apology. An, of course you were right, I wasn't thinking clearly when I said you were an idiot for needing to be on the paperwork three days ago. And do I get it? No. Of course not. My father has never apologized for a thing in his life because he firmly believes that he has never been wrong.

Oh, to live 80 years on this world believing with every molecule that what you say has the righteous ring of right. This realization was the straw that broke my camel's back of patience in regards to my father.

I've been looking at places to move out to since this fight on Monday because I am so. sick. of. him. He is constantly biting, sarcastic, demeaning, and dismissive, and never in my life did I think I would hold such a bitterness in my heart for him. When I only saw him once a month, sure, we would barely speak, but it was civil and decent. And then, my mother could tell me the sweet things that my father thought of me and I could believe her because I had nothing to disprove it. No longer.

He belittles my employment, my side business of bottlecap jewelry, and pretty much anything he can easily observe. And I ask my mother today, with angry tears wetting my chest, where the fuck does he get off? What, pray tell, has he ever done in his life that was so fucking remarkable?

And mind you, I've done more for my mother and now for him than his other children have ever done for their mother or him. That is a fact. I pay every bill in this house, their cell phones, my mother's car insurance...I have fiscally taken care of her since I was 16 years old, for chrissakes, to the persistant voice of my father telling me to always stay strong and take care of her. I don't think he ever once uttered that to her, though. Stay strong, and take care of our daughter. What does that say about who he thinks is more precious, more sacred? More worthy of care?

One could argue in favor of him: he puts this burden on you because he knows you're strong enough to carry it. That was my hope, too. Of course I would like to think that my dad considers me a good, strong daughter. But no. In all actuality, he doesn't.

I have a fierce and consuming anger that burns for hot moments and leaves a sulfuric ash of bitterness behind, and I don't know how to put it out except to leave them to their new life together and show him, pettily, what I contribute when he no longer has it when I'm gone.

Since when am I so petty?

I don't like this Erin.

Mouse Ears.

The last few days have been pretty impressive. Allow me to explain why.

Yesterday, I went to Disneyland with my friend Milla. She's down from school for spring break and loves to go but I'm always working or broke so I've never been able to experience it with her. Even though I couldn't do a lot of the super awesome rides because of my shoulder still recovering, I didn't want to miss out of this experience with her. We were like children. We both got our first pair of Mickey ears with our names on them, churros, sandwiches deep fried in the same way southern lovin' comes deep fried. We couldn't stop saying what a great day it was, how happy we were. Now, you need to understand; I'm often in a perpetual state of missing Milla. She's a mildly introverted genius that has been immersed in school for the last two years, so while I'm one of the lucky few that gets to see her when I show up on her doorstep with a bag and a smile, we don't get US time very often. Just the two of us. Openly talking about love and hope and when those things begin to fail we discuss the Divine.

She is one of my soul mates in this life, my Milla is. I tell her often how much I love her and lean over to kiss her cheek more than is necessary, trying to convey the depth of my appreciation that she is in my life. She's a wanderer, and I've known since meeting her that we would never have a traditional friendship, that she would be gone more than she'd be here, and that I'd love her fiercely when around. Like she needs to know. Like she needs to remember when she's out there in the great bigness that as long as she wants it, she'll never be alone.

Today we had lunch and hung out in her grandparents cake shop with her smiling aunt and fabulous uncle. As I've done most of my life, I immediately ingratiated myself with them. I can spot psuedo families a mile away. Even earlier that day I got a rare glimpse of her dad (he's a night-shift nurse), and when I walked in I shouted "PAPA-SAN!" and he smiled back, "DAUGHTER-SAN!" and gave me a big hug. We talked about empathy and people's confidence in you for awhile, and it was one of those mildly transcendent moments I'll look fondly at when I remember people I enjoy being similar to.

I felt like I was able to run away from my life for two days. Just the bad parts; the stress about my slow shoulder recovery, this big event for my small business on Sunday, the big scary new feelings I have for my boyfriend. At the end of the day, I'm just a girl with a jerry/jew curl wearing a mouse hat, arms linked with one of my dearhearts as we walk away from Fantastmic.

Everything else can suck it. :)

riding in cars with boys.

I don't know what spurned it on this morning, but I thought of some of my most vibrant, sweet, intense memories.

Not surprisingly, most of them were in cars. I feel like I've spent so much definitive time in autos...long road trips where you inadvertently bare your heart to your copilot, heading to a place your soul is calling you to, or just short trips on back roads where your headlights are the only ones aiding the moon and stars and you're just expanding with love.

In high school, it was with Sparky in his Camaro. Or was it a Mustang? I don't remember. I know it was fire engine red, with bench seats, and one summer night for no reason at all we drove around the hills of Riverside, lights piercing the darkness, Green Day crooning to us.

Later, I think of Aaron, about riding in his super loud Jeep, holding his hand and smiling so wide my cheeks hurt into the half-abandoned orange groves of aged Redlands. Best friends, other halves, until everything shifted and morphed, as friendships do.

My brother in his orange Camaro, cruising around Route 66, having to jump out of the backseat halfway around on our third trip so I could make it to a concert on time. His shining, beautiful, laughing face. Oh I love him. The same way I love my sister, in my deepest heart of hearts, where loving them is almost like a universal test to see how huge it can be. I'm a better person because of how much I love them.

I could make lists for days. Riding in (street)cars with Carl and Queenie in San Francisco, any car at hand with Adam in Phoenix, a cramped Yaris across Portland with a guy from college who I literally never talked to again after that trip. With Steve, my sweet wonderful boyfriend, sitting in a parking lot and holding his hand and him delaying going home even though he works early because he doesn't want to stop our touch earlier than needed.

So much love. I'm so blessed.