inevitability
I’ll be damned. The inevitable complete-emotional-breakdown-during-a-trip-to-Denver has finally occurred. I was at my dad and Stacy’s house, which is incredibly chaotic already, and i was trying to simultaneously finish both Ashley’s and my taxes (yes. I know this was an insane endeavor. We both had questions, though, and we thought we needed to finish tonight). Anyway, I ended up owing a bunch of money to the state of OK (which is a ridiculous abbreviation for such a terrible place), and asked Dad to help me figure out a way to owe less.
He had already sent me packin’ on a guilt trip about my weight, and had given me crap for worrying about my car (which is going back to the shop tomorrow), so when he told me I was financially irresponsible, I lost it. He’s been hounding me all week about how if I’m going to buy a house as soon as I move to Denver, I have to have paid off a bunch of my debt and have some cash saved. I don’t know how to accomplish this. Feeling like an utter failure, I start bawling and left the house. Ash drove us home and got me a slurpee to cheer me up a little.
And I know, I know. My father is well-intentioned. He’s terrible at following through and completing a given thought and making me feel like I actually have his attention. I’ve lived with that for 23 years now. Even if I am incredibly aware of his flaws, though, I still take his criticism SO HARD. Even though I have plenty of people in my life who encourage me, somehow when my dad tells me I suck at something, it erases all the things that I know are positive and true about me. I don’t know how to deal with that.
Which makes me feel like even more of a failure sometimes.
Aunt Deb, can you make Easter come any sooner?
the musings of emily beer 
I would love to offer advice, but once I read that your dad was calling someone financially irresponsible I actually started laughing and could hardly go on. Ask your mom how many times she was worried about grocery money while your dad was whistling his way through life apparently completely unaware that he had children who needed to eat. Dads have a way of doing this to us. All I’ve got is . . . either figure out what to do with it or . . . (wait for it . . . wait for it) move to Nashville!