...In which our heroine has a requiem.

Like another lady I know, the blogs have been frequent lately. I should be reading a Howard Zinn article, but let me take a moment to lament for times gone by.

My dad always calls me on Mondays. He doesn't have to work until 4, and I don't have class. We talk about nonsense mostly. He asks me what I've been reading, watching, listening to. We talk about Mad Men, What Would Tyler Durden Do?, movie trailers, what have you. I look forward to these talks. As he says it, he taught me how to be cool, and now I keep him hip.

Today he broke my heart without even trying. Dads are good for that. He had knee surgery last week and thus can't work. He asked me for a sizable amount of money last week since I got my refund check, and what am I supposed to say? So I get to pay the phone bill for a few months.

That wasn't what broke my heart though, it's just money. He asked me about finding him a picture - for the first edition of A Game of Thrones, his most beloved and most valuable book. There is a picture of us, with the author, George RR Martin, on my desk from when we got it signed when I was a sophomore in high school. I asked him why, and he said so he could put it on eBay. And then my heart broke. Those, above all else, were the series of books that showed I was an adult. When I got to read them, it was his acceptance of me as a grown-up. We went to Dayton for the signing, and ate Uno at one in the morning on a school night. It's one of my favorite memories with him, getting those stupid goddamn books signed. "What do you want me to say, Kate? We're just scraping by," he said. I don't know what I wanted him to say.

He talked about selling my oboe and my clarinet, which I could give a shit about, but he talked about selling the others in the series, all signed. I bit my lip to keep from crying. Yeah, they're just books, but these are the things I get sentimental about. I hate that it has to be like this, that he ran our finances into the ground, drained my bank account to pay bills, so that when things like this or wisdom teeth or my grandma getting sick happen, it becomes dire straits.

But it's my dad...I know it kills him to ask for money, or at least I hope it does. I have to become financially independent but I can't say no to my parents. I think the truest test of growing up is realized your parents have just as many fucked up problems as you do, and that they are not the gods we build them to be.

This is one of those days I wish I was five again and my biggest worry was where the matching pink pumps were for my Barbies. I should stop bitching - one of my mom's friends has super invasive brain cancer and isn't doing well. Things, as always, could be worse.

We stopped talking about the book and started talking about what a weak year it has been for movies. He says he's going to watch The Hurt Locker, which I sent him. We talk about Kathryn Bigelow, female directors. I tell him I'm done editing and he says he's glad I'm so on top of things. I found a picture of the book, I tell him where to find it. I tell him to feel better and he tells me he loves me, monkey,...and not to forget to pay the phone bill. What was I supposed to say?