||December 16th, 2016 Friday|| Now that I have a bit more free time, I've been thinking about a lot of things. What I don't want, what I do. Yesterday, I met up with the main coach at the range to discuss buying a bow and some other equipment. The price tag still makes me cringe, but I thought about a lot of things while I was sitting there with a stack of way too many twenties in my pocket looking through that catalog with her. I've never been allowed to do much of anything fun for myself when I was a child. Everything needed to be either because my father was interested in it and forced it on me, because my parents thought they might get some social status from it (and even then they'd eventually block me once money was involved), or if it entertained my brother and I was thus required to enjoy whatever he wanted to do. When I was debating with myself back in April about taking an introductory class and whether I had the right or not to do something that wouldn't lead me to any particular social or financial gain, it disturbed me that I thought like that and yet, I still had guilt for it. Those thoughts returned to me again that day, even though I know to continue, I really am at a point in which I need to buy my own equipment. The equipment they have for teaching their classes isn't at the level I'm at now. If I were a child and had somehow managed to convince my parents to ever spend money on me to take fun classes (which would never happen), this would be the point in which I would absolutely have to stop. There would be no improving from there, because it involves spending even more money. My parents would probably embarrass me in front of the coaches and argue that they're just looking to make money, never let me return, and repeatedly tell me anytime I mentioned the sport that I had wasted so much time going to these scam artists. When I first took a class, my father immediately hounded me for a reason why. Was it a class for university? What was I going to get out of it? How would this help me get a high paying job in the future? Don't I know that all of my free time should be dedicated to improving myself in a way employers will want? I should have added in another job on top of the two ones I'm already doing to help open up certain opportunities for me on top of my university classes. It's not like I'm against another job in my schedule (in fact, I've been applying to jobs, just no hits), but am I really not allowed to have even an hour free? This is from the guy who's always spent all of his time away from work doing as little as possible and sitting firmly in front of the TV. Sure, he does more than he's supposed to at work, but I wonder how much is true and how much is exaggerated. He lies about everything whenever he can, even in situations where it makes no sense to lie. My mother is bad about this too, but not to the degree he is. He must be the best at whatever anyone is talking about, even if no one's bragging about themselves. So I wonder--is he really that impressive? Probably not. And his go to answer any time my mother's ever asked him for help around the house if that he works hard so he cannot lift a finger when he is home. Everything needs to be done for him. Including him being woken up in the morning. He acts like he's an infant. When I was younger and he'd go on business trips, he'd forced my mother to call his hotel every morning to make sure he got up because he shouldn't be forced to do something like...set an alarm for himself and get up. He would always bitch that my mother wasn't there to put his clothes out for him and cook for him when he was away too, even though he always bitched about whatever clothes she picked out (everyday, which would suggest he hates all his clothes LOL) and complain that her cooking is awful and he could cook and clean and dress infinitely better if he did it himself. Occasionally, he would do those things solely to mock her own efforts at them, then coerce everyone in the family into saying whatever he did was better than her (and it never was, it was all the same level of mediocrity). Just to prove that my father only wanted to bitch, occasionally my mother would have my brother or me cook but not tell him we cooked just to see what sorts of insults he came up with about how bad "her" food was. Once it was revealed we tricked him, suddenly it "wasn't that bad" but it "could have been better" if we followed his instructions on cooking instead of her "bad" ones. (In these situations, we didn't even follow any instructions from her. Just used pre-existing recipes out there.) That wasn't his attempt at sparing our feelings either. It was to show that nothing was worse than her cooking, and that our hands would somehow produce better results even if she instructed us than anything she did on her own. Because he's that fucked up. When I was a child, I used to enjoy painting. It was one of those things, like science, that my father forced on me so he could show me off as "smart" in public and seem like a good parent (despite beating me whenever we'd be home). But I enjoyed it anyway. He used to make me draw a lot of boring realistic pictures and architectural designs and paint realistic art. When I was at home one day and watching some documentary on TV about art, I became fascinated by abstract art. I wanted to try and mimic the styles I saw on the documentary. So, I got out my paints and painting about twenty pictures over the course of the day. I was five, so it wasn't like there was a huge amount of technical skill or deep thought to these. Some of them were abstract pieces, some were landscapes (something else I liked that my father didn't like me painting unless it was some lame beach scene), and some were a blend of both. There was one in particular I really liked that was a field of flowers in the valley of a mountain range. Another I liked was a beach scene, but not the "cool-looking" warm sunsets he loved. It was a desolate beach before a storm. The completely abstract ones were based around emotions. When they were all dry, I showed them to my mom who didn't really get them but did the expected "good job, very pretty" response. When my dad got home, I got a completely different response. I got a long rant about how I didn't understand art, how abstract aren't isn't art, how I wasted his money by using paint on stupid things (these were just cheap watercolors, by the way), and that I had to throw them all away immediately because he didn't want to look at them. I threw most of them away but hid a few of them for a few days. Eventually, I threw those away too, and I didn't do anymore painting with him. He would always criticize any paintings I brought home from school as being stupid, except one that was a realistic one, but he added "if it were me at that age, it would have been much better than this". One time in high school, I found the old paintings he made me do as a child and they were all really good, especially since I was five. My dad caught me with them and bragged about how good a teacher was though there was that one time I did something stupid and wasted paint "fingerpainting" like how those "dumb schools encourage". Along with him then bragging about how much better the paintings he did were. Not ones from when he was a child. The ones he did while I was five. He was bragging that he, as an adult, could paint better than a five year old learning to paint. I stared at those paintings for a long time, half proud and half angry. I can't remember how good or bad those paintings I did that he made me throw away were. I wonder what I would think of them now. I'm not going to stop moving forward and doing what I want because he wouldn't approve. I don't need his approve, especially not as an adult, on what I can and cannot spend money on or how I manage my free time. It's my time and my life. I don't exist to do everything he wants and then roll over and kiss his ass as greatness whenever I surpass or equal him in anything. And I certainly don't need approval from someone who used to beat me just because he was pissed off about something. I'm doing this for me, because I want to. I don't need anymore reason than that.