Before we went on vacation, Millie and I had an argument - not a big one, not even an argument, really, but it was something. She just mentioned my dad's lack of parenting skills in passing, and it got stuck in my craw. I stomped off, had a drink - wonder who I get that from - and came home, claiming I was fine about it. But the next day, she was still pissed, and she pressed the issue until I left to go to physiotherapy.
Apparently, Isabel picked up on it; she had a fit, wouldn't go to her appointments, and cried until I came home. Millie called. I heard the words starting to come out, "You mean I have to blow off MY doctor's visit -" and cut off before I finished, "because YOU can't handle her." Just like the old man, again. I went home, picked Isa up, took her out, and shut the hell up about blaming who for what. There wasn't a round of apologies, either. We just both checked our tempers. Maybe that's what'll change things.
My knee hurts like hell, and I'm thinking more and more about Phil. He wasn't much older than me when he desked himself for the good of his family. This isn't how I wanted to go out.
