Weekend Misery

This weekend utterly sucked.

Long story short, my parents got into a major fights that included lots of yelling, screaming, and door slamming. Saturday night ended with my Dad dramatically waltzing out of the house, slamming the garage door shut, and driving off to his stupid friends house. I had to comfort my poor shaking mother while my Dad was out drinking a beer with his no good friend and watching an ASU football game. Bastard. (excuse my language but I am so sick of him.)

I had to text him for my mom who was so shaken that she could barely function that he had to stay at a hotel because his behavior was not acceptable. Thank God he didn't put up a fight. The night was spent with me comforting my Mom and wondering why my Dad had to be such an inconsiderate douchbag. (against, sorry for the language.)

I don't even understand was the fight was about. Basically, my Dad was upset with my Mom because she wasn't overly enthusiastic about watching the ASU football game with him. Seriously?! SHE NEVER LIKED FOOTBALL AND HE KNOWS IT. He then proceeded to rehash old things he says in every fight such as: You don't cook enough, you don't spend enough time with me, you don't have enough fun, etc...

She has cooked for him so much before and he never ate it, and it was perfectly fine.

Then he had the nerve to bring me into it. "You don't feed our daughter properly, she should be eating blah blah blah for breakfast... etc." All of what he was saying was untrue and made no sense, which means that he was just feeling defensive for no reason and felt like picking a fight. He was just a little boy throwing a temper tantrum. It's embarrassing when your 49 year old dad is less mature that his 14 year old daughter.

I feel so sick of him. It almost seemed like they were going to get a divorce, and I found myself hoping they would. Isn't that awful? I was hoping that we could erase my dad out of our lives.

Today, Sunday, Dad went to a football game before he came home. I can't believe he even had the nerve.

I hate him. I hate him. I hate him.

He is my Dad and I love him, but I really hate him. Sigh.

He came home and said sorry to me and my mom, but I don't think I will ever be able to accept it. Dinner was awkward, everyone was silent. My Dad knew what he did was incredibly wrong, and he admits it every time something like this happens, but I am tired of dealing with the little boy with the temper tantrums.

By the time everyone was done eating, we just sat in complete silence, staring at the table. I don;t remember how long it was, but it felt like forever. The whole time, there was this voice inside my head saying,"Move along little human. Come on. Stop pondering over how sad things are right now. Stop pondering about how sad it is that you don't have a dependable father. Come on. Move your plate. Clear your dishes. Say goodnight. Go to bed. Cry, little human. Cry,"

My subconscious isn't helping me get through this.