Sitting out the front with my dad, we were talking. I like talking to my dad. He doesn't judge me. He is warm, he is gentle. He lets me talk. He lets me swear, he lets me get my frustrations out. Sometimes, I know he will want to say something, set me straight, but he doesn't. What makes my dad a good listener, is that he listens.
He actually processes what I say. Some people I have spoken to, can't quite grasp that process and that irritated me to the extreme. Half the trouble with conversation, is it is usually one person just waiting for their chance to speak.
I wish people had more time to listen. Maybe they would then hear half the words I speak, and the other half that I am to afraid to say.
Dad started asking me about work. I don't get to see much of anyone anymore because of it. I'm either in a crappy mood or I'm just too tired to pretend to be pleasant to anyone. My job is interesting, but I'm not suppose to talk about it. It's hard. I don't want to do it for much longer, I'm not proud of how I get through each day.
That topic branched off to society, and the general distaste I have for the world at this moment. Dad understood. He says things will change. I'm sick of waiting.
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