Monday 6 April 2015

Letter to Carrie, October 1, 1989


Oh, I guess I have some good news, but I want to complain first, okay?  Okay.

My dad calls me at 9:00 a.m. and says, “Hi, are you mad at me?”  Then he bitches at me for about fifteen minutes since I, the horrible daughter straight from Hell, haven’t written him in a week.  I told him I was busy studying, etc., but he was still pissed off.  Then he says, “Has your mother said something to you to make you hate me?” or something equally retarded, to which I reply, “No!”  Finally I convince him that I am not angry with him, Mom hasn’t persuaded me to hate him, etc.  Then he asks me how I’m doing.  Oh, just SWELL!  You just made my day!  Then he says how he’s buying all sorts of food for me, but I have to see him to get it.  (No, I thought that I’d eat it through a psychic channel.)  Guess that means I shouldn’t be expecting a box in the mail.  Ah, the joys of having divorced parents.  It never ends.  Luckily, I had a class to go to.  Thank god for small miracles.


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