I’d started this post about the MEN of Deadliest Catch and how I I’d thought that maybe I could maybe dream about throwing myself up against the marathon mountain that is crab fishing in the Bering Sea and how cool it’d be to be able to be one of them.
And so there I was typing along, living longingly vicariously, when I got (ok, received? I get it, Ms. grammar) an e-mail from my father?
And everything dilated and dehydrated.
I hadn’t and haven’t spoken to the man who calls me son in over twenty years. And I’m good with that. I don’t care. I don’t know who he might be or who he might have become. I just don’t care.
I don’t know how he got my e-mail address and I don’t know if he reads my shit.
But if he does? Listen up motherfucker.
We’re done, we’re over, we’ve been waaaaaay over for a loooooonnnng ass time. Get over it.
The bruises will never go away.
Some wounds never heal for a reason….this I know.
Doesn’t it suck that we can’t just all get along?
Those men… that have sex… and make babies… and don’t understand the magnitude of the life they’ve created and their own role in it… and who choose to walk away… these are the men I’ll never understand. Never ever. My own sperm donor included. Sorry he had to come along and shake shit up.
fist bumps, baby.
–>This makes me sad. Hope you’re not too rattled.
I’m sorry. Don’t be sad.
It’s something that’s been going on for a really long time and I’m just over it.
Amen to that, broski. I have to wonder what the hell he’s smoking these days….
I’d reeeeeeeeaaaaaalllly like to find out how he got my e-mail address.
OH come on, keep the lines open, this could get interesting….
Trust me dude, it’s not that interesting.
Just another sad, fucked story of a family trying to make it through.
Sorry to rain on your parade.
OK – Mea culpa. I understand…
You wanna man-hug?