Fathers Day cont’d, apparently.

My History test was a big reminder that I’m actually in college now. There were 50 questions. Yeah, it was stuff we’ve already covered. Yeah, it was multiple choice. Yeah, I probably could have aced it if I had studied a little harder…but my mind has been in other places. My focus isn’t there. I won’t have the score until Wednesday, but I’ve already decided I’ll be happy with a B.

What was I thinking taking TWO CLASSES in a summer semester? This is like…torture! When the Fall semester starts in August I’m going to be burnt out already. (Have I already said this at least ten times?) I already have my mind made up, mostly, that I’m only going to take one class. Probably English Comp. 2…and I’m going to take it serious! (Even if my professor is annoying.)

My dad is so proud of me for being in school, you’d think I was enrolled in an Ivy League college. He used to call me about once a week to check in on me, but now that we have things to talk about that don’t always lead into him preaching at me…he’s started calling me almost every day. He’s called me five times since Saturday.

Apparently when I talked to him on Father’s Day he was “concerned” about me, so he even called me at work today. When I answered the call, I immediately panicked and thought something was wrong. He never calls me at work. Instead, he used his “caring father” tone of voice and asked me if everything is okay. My poor daddy never knew what hit him. As soon as I started talking, the tears started, and within a couple of minutes I was full-on bawling. I can’t remember now what he said to make me laugh but he’s a pro at it. Have I ever mentioned how much I love my daddy???

He asked if I would come there this weekend and just when I started to say “YES! Absolutely!” he said “Oh wait, no, gas is too expensive.” He talked me out of it and said maybe he would come here instead. He’s been saying he’ll come here for at least three months, and something always comes up. It’s so frustrating that there’s only a three hour drive between us and I haven’t seen him in almost a year.

One of the things I love about talking to my dad is that we both put on our happy face, and we both know it’s bullshit. I know he’s got things on his mind, and he knows I have things on my mind…and sometimes we talk about it, and sometimes we don’t. I love that he seems to know when I need to talk about it, and when I just need to sort it out myself. I love that he would fight my battles for me if I so much as whimpered, but he knows I have to stand up for myself…even when I’m flat on my face.

I love that he still calls me his baby girl, even though I’m almost 34. I love that he knows every rotten thing I’ve ever done in my life, and he loves me anyway. I love that he remembers things I’ve forgotten, and that he pretends to forget things I don’t want to talk about. I love that he’s not afraid to cry with me, and that he knows when to be strong in front of me, and when to stand beside me and hold my hand.

He still apologizes for the years he wasn’t in my life, and I can’t remember a time that he wasn’t part of my life. He blames himself for poor choices that I’ve made; he says I would have chosen more wisely if he had set a better example. He’s convinced that I’m somehow disappointed in him, and no matter how many times I tell him I love him…he still tries harder to be a better dad to me.

Gosh, I really didn’t mean for this to turn into a sappy love letter about my dad, but I just got off the phone with him a short while ago, and he’s heavy on my mind. Anyway, it’s about time for me to go to bed, so I’ll stop rambling on. Tomorrow I’ll post a Haul video to show you all the cosmetics I bought. Haha, just kidding. Oh funny, funny, funny shit.

No really, if you didn’t click on any of the links on my previous entry, you must see this one. I’m going to hell for that.