Scotch Missed.

It's only over the past few days that the fact I'm not in Edinburgh has started to tug at the heartstrings.

It doesn't help that everything's resoundingly shit at the moment and that's no understatement; so much so, the fact I had to cancel my Fringe run having shelled out thousands of pound's worth of donations and Dad's/my money for no reason has become a minor footnote to my terrible situation; at any other time, this last-minute change of plans and what it stood for - being forced to abandon a year of work - would be the overriding event, but here it's barely significant.

When this eventually stops being something I feel forced to keep to myself, I might at least have the relief that comes with understanding; I had every intention of still going to Edinburgh right up to a few days before when someone's actions were such I felt I no longer had a choice. And they're yet to even acknowledge I didn't go, which says a lot by omission. But when I briefly discussed it with my dad a few weeks before he died and hinted I might have to pull out depending on the situation (which was a thinly veiled way of saying, "If you were too ill for me to leave") he misread this as me thinking he'd be angry if I cancelled and said, "But I'd never make you do it"; that's the fundamental difference.

So now I'm seeing things in a harsh new light and - while I don't like the wakeup call - I guess it's good to know the truth. I just wish it wasn't so inherently painful. All I can do is try to keep sight of what matters and protect myself and my family while being true to what I feel my dad would want. Right now though, I'd do anything to speak to him.

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