Wills and shit

So, don’t know if I’ve mentioned this, but my Dad’s been planning on leaving and fulfilling his dream of traveling the world and visiting his family, whom he has seen for years. This, I am all for. I am stoked for him. I can’t wait.

But before he leaves, we’ve been dealing with the awkward problem of what to do when he dies.

Typical of my dad, there’s not going to be a will. Too complicated, he says. I suspect it’s something else. When I ask for details, I get a very angry, suspicious father, and a lot of screaming. Not too encouraging.

Both of my parents don’t trust my brothers with money – I don’t either. They have problems with self-control and addictions. So that leaves me.

First, there’s the part that I kind of don’t want this responsibility. My parents spent my entire life ensnared in lawsuit after lawsuit, all for money that we don’t need. It certainly didn’t make my life a bucket of rainbows.

There’s also the part that no one will tell me the entire story about all the complications of our questionable finances, and, me being me, I refuse to agree to anything where I can’t read the fine print. Because apparently I’m the one they’re going to entrust potentially millions of dollars with (and plenty of legal trouble), but no, I shouldn’t know anything about it. This does not fly with me. Which, obviously, doesn’t lead to giggles and smiles in the household.

That, by the way, means that I feel very, very bad for our poor tenant, who is probably cowering in her room with the TV turned way up while cuss words fly through the walls.

And finally, it’s fucking awkward, yelling at my dad about “after you’re dead, …”, because what a fucking morbid and depressing thing to be yelling about. I mean, how can you take the high road and stand firm when you’re being a callous jackass talking about money after someone’s death?

See, this is why I’m a not a nice person – it’s kind of a necessity to not be.

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