Mon Mar VIII
Dads Birthday, but nothing else special. Had a bit of a set-to with mum and dad.
Oh boy, is that putting it mildly. Of all of the things that I knew I would have to expand upon in writing about the diary, this is the one that I have found the most difficult. I still feel ashamed about the events of this day even now. I am not going to beat about the bush here. I can’t remember what the argument was about, but it led to me trying to pick a fist fight with my father.
On his birthday.
I’m actually cringing as I write this. The only thing that makes it better than it could have been is that no physical contact was actually made.
What kind of moron tries to fight their own father, though? The teenage me was such an idiot most of the time.
Of course, all of this means that it is Dad’s birthday today, too. In the years that have passed since this we’ve both grown older and he has grown even wiser. I’m still an idiot, but at least I’m no longer a violent one. And physical contact? Well, you’re never too old to hug your dad. Happy Birthday, Dad.