To get the new dryer in all by myself, all I have to do is take apart the laundry room and all the half-ass kludges my father built into it, the bailing wire and bent venting, the jury rigged shelves and blocking cabinets, move them into my mother’s craft area, full to the ceiling with crap she hasn’t touched in a decade, and then rebuild the kludges the way that my father would.
In other words, all I have to do is think like my father. He, of course, thinks that’s a reasonable request. It’s one I knew how to do in my younger days; heck I have gotten many places by that learned skill of thinking like a guy trying to do something and helping.
But now, thinking like my father, living in his world, is palpable torture. His Aspbereger’s like mind, his judgementalism, his closed ideas just cause me pain. “If you would just slow down and think you could do it” booms through my brain, his omni-purpose put down to me whenever I think like who I am and not in his way. It is my failure to be in his world, my failure to think like him that is my failure in the world, my failure as a human, my total failure.
I scream and pound myself and know that I am right in his trap, the trap he has trying to catch me in since I was a kid, trapped in a world where only his solutions will be right and anything else is failure. I don’t have the money, skills or time to do the thing right, so I have to do it his way, and his way is myopic and skewed, as reviewers tell him every year he tries to submit a new technical paper.
I am sweating and panting and dying, but I know that I can do this if I just put in enormous amounts of energy and take enormous amounts of pain, which was the way I did it when I was a kid. It’s just that now I have less energy and less tolerance for pain, less willingness to enter abuse to do what is expected.
But this has to get done, and with enough force I can do it.
And the pain & wear? Well, it’s just to do things the right way, thinks my father, so I should just slow down and think, crushing my own flying spirit.