I don't like him

I didn't know him well. My step-father. Not my step-dad. Tom Weaver was my step-dad. Tom Egan is my step-father. It's a title that he doesn't deserve. He's not parental. He doesn't care about parenting. He cares about order and his things and his space and his rules. He wants things done his way and wants everyone around him to know what his way is, without him enlightening the rest of us as to what his way is.
I have come to know him better in the last 2 years. I didn't like him before. Now I really don't like him. I admit that I actively dislike him. I'm sure he dislikes me as well.

Disappearing Mom

When Mom married Tom Weaver, she changed. It was subtle enough, and I was young enough, that I didn't notice as it was happening.
Then she and Tom Weaver divorced and suddenly, she was my Mommy again. I hadn't seen, or even remembered her, since I was eight years old, but I recognized her. She was doing things that she wanted to do. Things that she cared about. Not the things that were expected of her or wanted from her. What she wanted and enjoyed.
The she met Tom Egan, and Mommy disappeared again. I haven't seen her since.

January chill

I'm trying to find the good.

Stay focused on the good.

See the good.

Post-Thanksgiving

Last year, Thanksgiving was nice.

Sheena and her boyfriend were here.

Katharine, Don, and Ana came down from LA.

We played with the rabbit and with Aki.

Bristow was stuck in a neighbor's basement.

Booth was still down at Sheena's apartment.

Mom cooked most of the dinner.

It was nice.

Sheena and I cooked this year, from Bobby Flay's Bar Americain cookbook.

It was great! Almost all of the food got eaten! We had some trouble keeping Mom out of the kitchen and out of our hair.

Clean up was easy. Ian helped with the glasses.

Mom talked about the rent for the LA apartments.

Katharine, Don, and Ana left right after the family picture.

They might be traveling for Christmas.

Therapy trip

Today, they go to therapy together. I hope it goes well.
I'll reserve judgement until I see the after-effects.

I don't enjoy being this cynical, but it's a difficult thing to break out of, when one's hopes and aspirations have been so squashed.

Negativity

I don't want this to be a gripe page.

Not Home

Alright, it's bad.

Before, it was just not good. Now, it's bad.

We're not at home when we're home.
It's not our home. It's theirs.
That's been made ever-increasingly, abundantly clear.

Nothing is ever okay.
It's just varying degrees of tolerable.

Waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Waiting for the next mistake, or complaint, or scolding.

It's bad.