My father called me on Sunday night, or was it Monday night? I can't remember. This week's days have bleed one right into another. The only point of reference is the calendar, which is a big duh. Back to the story. So he called me to just check up on me. The usual talk in which we talk about nothing, but rather just say things to hear the other person talk. First topic was the weather. That's an ever ready topic to talk to anyone about. He lives a 100 miles north of here, so his weather might be a little different. Hence the way we can talk about our individual weather patterns.
I haven't been up to see him since early 2001. Our talk then went to my Grandmother (his mother), and whether I've called her. I'm not at all close to that side of the family. I told him no. We talked a little about that. After a couple of other quick topics I started to tell him about my whole tooth adventure. I asked him a question at the end of it, and he didn't answer me. I knew that he had phased out of our conversation. I asked him again though. Again, no response. I then changed the subject. I doubt that he knows that I had to get a root canal, and my wisdom tooth pulled.
And that was the extent of our conversation. He told me he was going to call his mother to see what she was up to. I said good-bye, and that was that.
It's strange how I'm closer to friends than I am to my own father. I certainly have no huge loyalty towards him. I do have a kinda loyalty, but nothing like the kind I have for my Grandmother (mother's side). I don't have that kind of loyalty towards anyone but her at this point in my life. I simply don't feel as close to anyone but her. When she goes I know that I'll have lost my best friend. Hence me always fighting to keep her going. Whenever she says she feels sick in some way, like her stomach hurts, and such, I get a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. Like I'm being kicked there over and over again. I worry that much. Yes, over a simple thing like a stomach ache. Because to me it's something to worry about. What if it's connected to that gall bladder problem she was having a couple of years back? What if it's something else? I'm a worrier.
I went to check my site stats and found that one of my other journals, Unrequited, had a googled hit for the search: "Infatuation with the unattainable."
That's the story of my life, or at least the title. If I can't attain it, I'm going to be infatuated with it... that's for bloody sure. Some day I'll have to write that book. It's not very interesting. Perhaps between now and then I'll have some sort of an ending that will fit the theme.