sunday shutdown


It never seems to fail… by the time I drive home from the bf’s parents house from the weekly sunday night dinner I am a hot mess…

I always seem to have the country station on the radio and every single Sunday night as I’m about 10 minutes from my house some sad, crying in my beer, song comes on… and next thing you know I’m bawling like a baby trying to wipe my eyes and see the road so I can drive straight and make it home in one piece…

I don’t know what it is about Sunday nights… but it just seems that by the time the end of the week wraps up my composure is completely gone and all it takes is one little thing to remind me of Dad and I lose it…

Sundays used to be Daddy and me day…. We’d get up in the morning… load up into the ’73 red Duster and go grocery shopping making a quick stop at Burger King or Mickey D’s for breakfast… no fail… every Sunday morning…

For lunch Dad would make perogies (not home made but damn good none the less) with onions and sausage and some egg burittos… if it was football season we’d watch the games together or do something else together…

That’s how life went for the first 14-15 years of my life… and then when things changed I lost all of that… and then when he died I never had to chance to experience it again…

Now I spend Sundays working a weekend job I can’t stand… I come home exhausted, angry at management and disappointed that I live a life where I work 7 days a week and don’t know what it feels like to be able to look forward to a weekend off…

Then I head to Steve’s parents where we do have that Beaver Clever sit down family dinner… and its everything I don’t have anymore… even though I’m kind of adopted into his family now…

And then I head home… Sunday night’s Steve stays at his parent’s and I have Mommy Minnie night with the puppy… but it all totals up to bringing me to breaking point… I just feel like breaking down… and like there is no way that I can do this for another week…

I walk into a house that is dirty, disorganized and unkempt… because well, I get maybe 45 min a night free to clean… and usually I’m so tired I end up crashing on the couch… I just feel so defeated…

And I would give absolutely anything, and I mean anything to have my dad be here again… to give me that little bit of support I need, that kick in the butt… to have him be able to stop over and help me clean up the basement or the garage like I see other dad’s doing…

Honestly, it’s 1:40pm and I’m sitting in my office right now, and I still am having trouble bouncing back from last night’s melt down… just shows how bad of a break down it was… Sometimes I think erasing his memory would be easier than this pain… and then I hate myself for thinking that…

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