Danger: Pothole

I cleaned off my desk thinking it would help me to be more organized.
Right.
Instead I find an old birthday card from my dad. Damn it.I knew it was there, I kept them (thank Goddess) but still I HAD to look at it, HAD to think about him.

Wow I miss him. I miss talking to him. Even though sometimes our conversations were strained or forced or whatever, sometimes they weren't.

The paradox of the difficult wealthy absent parent is the "you only call when you need money" trap. When I would want to call, but it was near my birthday, would he think I was just logging relationship points for the hopeful birthday check? What if I really just wanted to say hi.

Oh there were times the stress of it made me secretly think of the inevitable day when he would be mortal. I never wanted him to die, there were just times I wished he were, well.....

I found this while going down the rabbit hole of my desk:

"Another day awaits with its
mousetraps of memory
the ones that snap and sting my eyes
I look for them
I set some of them
I almost want to be caught"

I promise I'll try to write about something else someday.