I just had a phone call with my dad.

For some reason I feel 7 years old again, waiting for my daddy to come back from the sea. I can feel it itching all over my skin, the opressive silence of the house with my mother angry at my general existence and my brother angry at everyone and me on edge every second of every day because I’m always waiting to hear from my dad, phone calls and emails and IM messages, always waiting for some scrap of affection because the house is so so quiet without my dad. Hell, I remember a dozen instances when I heard songs on the radio about love or a man waiting for a postcard from his wayward lover and just crying because I wanted my dad home because never in my life was I as alone as in those months with those people. I can feel that right now, and it’s horrible and I want it gone and I hate my mother so much and I resent my dad for leaving me with her all those times and all those times after, walking out after fights, weeklong stays in hotels, coming home from school to my daddy with his bags packed, leaving me behind with an even angrier mother while he has a relaxing hotelroom all to himself and I want him to come home now.