So, I fell asleep, and for an interrupted nap…I’ve had better. I also have a headache.
Dean didn’t come home. None of his friends [that I’ve spoken to] know where he is. My Dad’s gone off to SDPD to place a report in [missing persons or a runaway, I don’t know?].
So, yeah. I’m real groggy despite the cheerful valley-girl voice I used on the phone to speak to his “friends”. Not a pang of anxiety or guilt has pressed on my chest, which is unfortunately untrue for my father.
If he gets a heart-attack next week, I’d like to go on record for saying I love my father, and I’m sorry for this [and I’m sorry his two children are such a disappointment]. Sure I’m in art school and getting good grades, but I’ve yet to separate from him financially. And there’s also the fact that I’m a bitch…well, not always. I’ve cut back a lot since I’ve left MA [and I have enough sense/fear not to swear around my Father. Oh, and I don’t lie [a lot], cheat, and/or steal. So.].
Whatever. I’m going undercover on Facebook [well, more like stalking. Undercover sounds cooler] and tracking down Dean’s friends’ cell numbers. Even if he’s not with them, at least the word will be out that' he’s missing. That’s the least I can do for my father. I’m leaving tomorrow, after all.
What I learned: Like my brother, I too don’t care [sometimes. In this case, at least].
Peace out.
Update later if there’s anything to update about.
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