The Money Toss
My dad called to throw money at me because I’m moving. He claims financial hardship, then throws a few thousand dollars at me every few years. The money toss is followed by years of moaning about the money he gifted…or forced upon me by secretly transferring it to my bank account. He has the routing and account number of my bank from a check I wrote him years back. Yes, this man cannot remember when I was born, but can remember my bank account number.
He grumbled about how I didn’t return his call. I saw he called while I was in the shower, but he didn’t leave a message. I assumed that he called me by accident and, if he wanted to talk to me, he’d call back, send a text, or leave a message. Instead he waited 2 weeks before calling a second time to complain about how annoyed he was that I hadn’t returned his call. In my dad’s mind, I’m to blame for just about everything in some passive aggressive, round about way…
I don’t talk to Jonathan about my family. At least, I try not to. He finds their behavior infuriating. I can’t blame him, honestly. Their behavior could test the patience of a saint. I reserve most of my family drama for this blog and try to contain their BS to this one area of my life instead of letting it seep out and taint the rest of my life like it has in the past.
Yesterday, I went on a hike with Jonathan and the kids. Unfortunately, my knee gave out and I fell. HARD. Although Jonathan saw what happened he kept asking for details on what happened. I managed to squeak out the words that I slipped and fell through deep, painful breaths. Today every joint and muscle in my body feels bruised. Clearly, I need to start hiking with a cane or walking stick and I’m not happy. I feel too young to need a cane. I also feel too arthritic to keep busting my ass like I did yesterday.