I called Tony last night to tell him that we didn't have enough money, and won't have enough, to keep our runaway child in $900/month spending money. We can't even make the house payment.
My father has been bragging about how he and his mother had a big inheritance plan, and that only HE could help if I ever needed it. I broke down and asked him for whatever he could do, and he did a quick 180 and told me a sob story about problems with his sports car and his wife's race horses, so I just told him that I hoped that things got better for him.
Now some criminal detective is leaving messages for me on my answering machine, and not saying why, and when I try to return his calls, he isn't in. Who the fuck knows what that is about.
All of this reminds me of the first time, in grade school, that we were told to play softball, and I knew absolutely nothing about the game. They gave me a glove for my right hand, but I threw a ball with my right hand. Then I had to bat. I stood on the same side of the plate as everyone else, and that seemed OK, but then they told me that I was left-handed and had to stand on the other side of the plate, which was extremely awkward. I couldn't hit the teacher from over there, much less the ball. After three strikes, I was told that I was " out ", which meant nothing to me. I asked several people where I was supposed to go when I was " out ", but no one would tell me. Finally I was told that I was standing in the baseline, and to get the hell out of it.
It's starting to look like I'm " OUT " again. I think I'm just gonna go back to bed. There isn't any baseline there, AFAIK.
My father has been bragging about how he and his mother had a big inheritance plan, and that only HE could help if I ever needed it. I broke down and asked him for whatever he could do, and he did a quick 180 and told me a sob story about problems with his sports car and his wife's race horses, so I just told him that I hoped that things got better for him.
Now some criminal detective is leaving messages for me on my answering machine, and not saying why, and when I try to return his calls, he isn't in. Who the fuck knows what that is about.
All of this reminds me of the first time, in grade school, that we were told to play softball, and I knew absolutely nothing about the game. They gave me a glove for my right hand, but I threw a ball with my right hand. Then I had to bat. I stood on the same side of the plate as everyone else, and that seemed OK, but then they told me that I was left-handed and had to stand on the other side of the plate, which was extremely awkward. I couldn't hit the teacher from over there, much less the ball. After three strikes, I was told that I was " out ", which meant nothing to me. I asked several people where I was supposed to go when I was " out ", but no one would tell me. Finally I was told that I was standing in the baseline, and to get the hell out of it.
It's starting to look like I'm " OUT " again. I think I'm just gonna go back to bed. There isn't any baseline there, AFAIK.
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