Dear Dad

I'm on the phone, stomping through the park, bluegrass music is trailing behind me, and I'm thinking, "We've been down this road before."

Mom's trying to mediate the whole thing and keep us calm, but I feel like I'm calm plenty and taking the punches like always. Dad's exasperated and tired of my pessimistic, ever-failing attitude - so he says. "GIVE UP! QUIT! THROW YOUR LIFE AWAY!" But then I asked for examples of when I've ever given anything up in my entire 24 years of being, so he hung up the phone.

Still I'm somber and cold and trudging through the empty sidewalks by the DeYoung and new Academy of Science Museum as if the cement was quick sand and I'm trying hard not to tense and get sucked in deeper by the darkness. Mom's jabbering on with excuses for everyone's mistakes and reminding me to chill out before she realizes I haven't said anything in 5 minutes. "Are you still there?"

This is what it always boils down to, honestly. I think by nature and an untamed dose of nurture, I've become a gal livin the path of adversity. What was that famous quote? Robert Frost? "Two roads diverged in the wood and I, I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference." Something like that. Though I doubt anyone knows what I mean. It's 2 brothers carving the success route but leaving me 4 years behind trying to prove myself and my uniqueness... so at 22 I took the wheel and jarred it to the left and pressed my right foot to the floor of my car. I started carving my own path, and I've thrashed at the wild bats and poisonous vines as I've pressed forward.

What happened when I was demoted? I got an email from ya, Dad, it said "Hang in there" and blah blah blah; and even my supervisor was telling me to quit the corrupt and toxic mess I was in, but I held out til the funding ran dry and I had no other choices.

I feel like I'm being told to look backwards and never forwards for what is best for me. I feel like I'm supposed to deal with what I've got, and bake something sweet when all I have is expired mayonnaise and a jar of pickles. I feel like you, like Palin, is telling me to stop looking into the past without promising a future... none of this advice is making any sense.

What happened when my landlord wouldn't give me my security deposit back, and harassed me and said I would go to hell? I took action and sued her! But you said, "Are you sure you want to do that?"

What happened when a mound of compost blew up in a mushroom cloud on my deck with where I used to live? You said, "All you can do is tell your roommates how you feel." Correct, but they cussed me out and made me believe there's an emotional price to pay for being clean. You told me I was over reacting. You told me I would never be happy in San Francisco.

What happened when my boyfriend abused me? No I never told you about that, Dad, because you would have said "Why don't you just come home to Michigan?" The subtle cue to quit, woven into a wet blanket "Hang in there" - damn I'm feelin good.

I am alone here. I am striving here. I am doing my god damn best to prove the world to who ever will listen here. And it gets hard here. I panic and hide and push others as I fall into the whirlpool of my own diseased mind. Your excuse, Dad, is "Well I'm on steroids for poison ivy, and on meds for high blood pressure, and I just drove 4 hours..." but you never can admit that you passed on this genetic malfunction and my unhappiness is justified and sanctioned.

"You seem to be having a rough time the last few years... there are no magic words to make everything better."

Funny. I could have said the same to you, Dad. But I admit my issues. Publicly. I'm not going to give up, ever, nor will I hang up the phone. This quick sand way is the way things are, and since I chose this path less traveled by, and since it's gonna suck in any direction, I'll show you an effective end to a letter:

I'm sorry.