(no subject)

I walked out on my dad tonight.

I couldn't, at least for this night, deal with listening to him complain any more.

I feel like I'm 40.

I have to button his shirts for him.

I can't count the number of times I day I'm called on to provide assistance.

Sometimes he thanks me for it.

Sometimes he doesn't.

Most of the time, I don't remember one way or the other.

I'm hairs' breadth away from being treated, outright, like help.

Tonight, when the call for help came, I just...snapped.

I punched a nearby wall hard enough to leave a small dent in it.

I did what he asked me to.

Then I left.

I returned some time later, and was offered a weak apology.

I don't know for how much longer I can do this.