My father still has not returned my, "Hey, it's Jen. I just wanted to tell you some awesome news, so, give me a call back," message I left four days ago. Or the followup, "Hey, I left you a message a couple of days ago and haven't heard back, so I thought I would give you another call, call me back when you get this," message. He doesn't know I've been accepted to Bowling Green.
I know his cell isn't destroyed or that he was kidnapped or that he died because I talked to his mother a couple of days ago and she mentioned she had talked to him that day.
I even checked our caller I.D. to make sure I was dialing the right number. My mom asked what I was doing and I told her, "Checking to see if he has an excuse for not calling me back."
The Secret: He's done terrible things in the past, but this one kind of hurts the most, even if it's the most insignificant mistake he's made.
What's worse, I couldn't care less. His actions, or lack thereof, may be hurtful, but I've grown accustomed to his disappointing me and not living up to the minimal standards I hold him to.
The fact is, after I publish this blog post, the whole thought will leave my mind and more important ones will enter.
There's the whole Spanish II debacle, the fact that I have two applications to fill out that are due (my deadline, not theirs) in nine days and in 19 days, a Michigan trip to execute (hopefully) perfectly in 19 days, as well, and so much more.
I'm going to go finish wasting the day away now.
;Jen
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