Daddy's Girl

It's hard living with my dad again. In the 48 hours since his return to Los Angeles, he has angrily accused me of eating 2 cups of cottage cheese and drinking half a bottle of Chablis. Worse part: I did those things.

Worst, though? I keep crying. Like, all the time. About him, I mean. Just thinking about living with him again makes me short of breath. When I was in Israel and had to go on a bus with him in one of his manic moods, I had a certifiable panic attack. I wish I was exaggerating. Crying, anxiety, shortness of breath, sweating, shaking, etc.

So to-day, to live my own life and breathe my own breath, I went to the post office, had a job interview, did my weights, cleaned the kitchen some. Breathed my own air. (And some of Lucky Strikes' air). But even though I didn't see him most of that time, when he came home and I tried to deliver a phone message, I ended up breaking down:

Rina: "Hi, Daddy? Lily called, she said ..."
Him: "Who are you talking to?" (My mum was in the same room.)
Rina: "I'm telling you, Daddy, that Lily called ..."
And he walked away. Mid-sentence. When I was giving a message about his cousin who called because her sister had an emergency appendectomy. OHMIGAWD.

So then I returned to my room, cried, and had some more hydrocodone with chili liqueur chasers. WOOOO! (I become a "Woo! Girl" when Y Chilli is involved.)

PS Fingers crossed for that job interview, yeh?