Entry 839 – I Hope He’s Okay . . .

::Sighs::  In my house, my parents and I used to have these screaming fights that would — literally — last for hours on end.  After they would happen, I’d usually just ignore mostly my dad for as long as I was able to.  It usually amounted to a couple of days.  Then life would go on as normal.  Until the next argument.  But before each one, there was this sense of tension crackling in the air.  Like something was going to happen, it was just a matter of time till it actually did.

Well, the point of that paragraph was simply that between Rob and his father, I’ve sensed that saem kind of tension.  They don’t seem to me to be the type of family who get into these screaming fights, but especially his dad seems to be the kind of person who’d rather sweep things under the carpet than come face to face with them.  But Rob said he was gonna talk to his dad today.  I hope he does.  And I hope things go okay.  I hope what he’s afraid of won’t happen, any of the three scenarios.

I honestly wish I could be there for him.  I wish I could help him talk to his dad.  But I remember, Rob told me in December that his dad didn’t like "family business" being "spread around."  That’s why Rob’d hesitate with how much he told me before we got together.  He didn’t know how much he could trust me.  But I think he’s needed to talk to someone about this for a long time and since I was willing to listen, he chose me.

Anyway, though, I told him last night that I’d be there for him in a heartbeat if I thought it’d do one wit of good.  But I don’t think it will.  I think this is something he needs to do alone, just him and his dad, whatever the outcome may be.

In other news, I’m helping Rob get his finances in order to pay off and get on top of his student loans and stuff like that.  I’m great at financial planning, I’m finding.  It’s just carrying out those plans that’s hard for me.  Oh, well.  This is for Rob, so he’ll manage it.  And so will I.

Speaking of all that, I need to go pick up a calendar.  Well, I’ll write more later, I suppose.

Oh, long story of the employment fun cut short, I’m back at Domino’s, being a delivery girl.  Except that I don’t quite get this phone/computer system yet, it’s like I never left.

I hate, though, that the soonest I might hear from Rob is around eight-thirty/nine o’ clock tonight . . .