D-Day

I don't even know where to start. I guess I'll begin my saying this is the longest day in the history of time, even though my favorite radio station is featuring the Frank Zappa lunch hour. As predicted, I of course have a zit, and nail polish I painstakingly applied last night chipped off this morning, forcing me to reapply, twice. I can't believe I went to school to do the shit, I hate it so much. I haven't worn nail polish in a year or more. But that's beside the point. My nails are a lovely shade of tangerine, clashing mightily with my newly tinted fuchia-plum hair, as intended. Luckily it didn't take very well, and made it past the boss without too much hassle.

Two more hours. Then it's on to get packed, showered, and on the road to the airport. My dad is taking me, which can be good or bad, depending on his feelings about my life at the time. I think we'll do OK this trip. Once he had to come rescue me after a boyfriend kicked me out when I was pregnant, in Connecticut. This after my whole family advised against me going at all, so far from home, etc. etc. Add to that my refusal even when I was destitute to move to Florida and have the baby there-that was an interesting 13 hour car ride. The cool thing about my dad though-actually two cool things about road trips with my dad. Number one, he has fantastic taste in music, so the soundtrack for these trips is always perfect. Number two-We really talk, in the car. He was always working on one thing or another, or falling asleep with a magazine in his hand at 8 o'clock because he worked so much and so hard. So when we were in the car, he had no choice but to respond to me. And we had some of the best conversations of my youth in the car. He used to take me to therapy once a week about 45 minutes away...those were some of my favorite times with him. Sometimes we would argue heatedly. Sometimes we would talk about politics, or cars. Most every time, we went to the record store or to my favorite clothing store, Edge City (the first store in Jacksonvile, FL to sell punk rock clothes) and to some horribly unhealthy fast food place for dinner. Many nights we would sit in the car in the driveway and wait for a particularly good song to end before we got out. Those were my times with him, and mine alone. I think I got more out of those trips to and from Jacksonville than from the therapy I got in between. So off we go, another road trip, just a couple of hours this time, and kids in the car, but maybe he'll start talking about politics again ( I love it when he does that) and I'll once more be listening, relating, learning, wishing that the ride wouldn't end so soon.

If it's like that...then the ride to the sirport will be cake. If he's mad at me, if he thinks I should move to Florida again, if he's planning to talk to me about Hannah eating meat to get her protein.then we could be in for a long trip. I've also been known to squish myself up again the opposite side of the car, staring out into space for hours, refusing to talk about "it". Let's hope for a nice safe political discussion, maybe something about Hannah's "ADHD" (coughbullshitcough) diagnosis. Something we agree on.

This journal entry gave me an idea, that I should write some more about my dad, and my relationship and experiences with him. Maybe I'll start a new page, when I get back. Summer and Her Dad-a Chronicle. Hmmm. In the meantime, I hope I will have no time to write journal entries online, but I will transcribe the ones I make on paper when I get home. I hope everyone has a fantastic week, and I'll see you all when I get back from heaven.

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