Ghosts of the father

Again with the rain. Save tonight it has been much more blustery with tornado warnings and watches. Typical weather for early spring in the deep south. In the past, the warnings and watches really spooked me. But in the last few years, it seems like there have been so many that now I almost ignore them. Maybe the standards have been lowered. Or maybe they weather service has gotten better at spotting storms. Or maybe the media has better equipment to issue warnings with.

Well, I suppose I need to make a comment about how my father dealt with the issue. (Anytime I write about him, I realize more and more that he was a troubled, tempestuous, angry, domineering individual. And I keep asking myself if I will ever be free of his ghost.) His solution to storms, warnings and watches was to grab the strongbox of important papers, get in the car and head the opposite direction of the approaching storm! Of course, this is the last thing you should do.

Not to drift too far afield. My mother made a comment about my failure to visit her. Actually, it is the house that haunts me. It feels spiritually and physically claustrophobic. Anytime, I go there, I almost feel it tearing at me. And I'm sure I sense the spectral presence of my father. And I know that she did not know how to deal with him. And so she did nothing out of fear of him. And she now realizes that. But the really scary thing about all this is that I know his temperament lives in me.

Fuck! This is certainly not the intent I had in mind for tonight's entry. But look at what has happened. The ghosts creep back to haunt me. I want to scream, "Go the fuck away! Leave me the fuck alone!"

I debated whether to leave this or erase it. But I know it needs to be here. Is this what happens when I forget to take my antidepressant?

PAX!