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I have a dilemma. Now, I don't expect any of you to care, but I have to write it down or something. Hell, in all honesty, I don't expect this to even get read at all. But.. I do have a problem that I think quite a few people can relate to. I have a stepfather. I'm sure many people have stepfathers, and that is not uncommon. But, my stepfather is my dilemma. I have never been filled with such passionate hatred as he has put in me. As a matter of fact, it pains me just to say that I hate him, but I know that there is no other word to describe it. Loathing doesn't even come close. And, needless to say, dislike is a very drastic understatement.

So, basically, what it is, is that he is an angry, and childish alcoholic who tries to blame his addiction on anyone else, and tries to make people feel guilty for his drinking. I can tell you now, that no one can force a two hundred and some-odd pound, six foot giant to drink three bottles of vodka over the course of a single weekend. It's not possible for a man as big as him to be forced into that. His name is Kevin. Anyway.. I'll make an example out of tonight for you.

So, he comes home and says hello to no one. I wouldn't have known that he was in the house, had I not been walking downstairs at the same moment that he was walking up to his room. I, out of manners, said hello, and told him the whereabouts of his wife. He thanked me and went into his and my mother's room. So, I returned to drawing my picture that is to be mailed within the next few days, and then, after my mother was done showering she came downstairs, went to the grocery store, and returned to start dinner. She was making one of his favorite things and, might I mention, she picked up Kevins fovorite candies while at the store. Nice, right? Yes.

After dinner was well on its way, Kevin came downstairs and set a glass by his drinking cabinet, where he keeps all of his alcohol. He looked at my mother, who was cleaining up the kitchen and she, facetiously, said to him, "I'm the only one that does anything around here." She was just being playful, but he jumped at the opportunity to become angry. He looked at her in a mocking sort of way that bordered between poor acting and true incredulity. I can promise you it was closer to the former. Then, he said something along the lines of, "Whatever." And turned to his counter and made himself a drink, and walked back up the stairs and into his room, taking care to slam the door behind him. P-R-I-C-K! My mom spoke to me for a few minutes about how he picked a fight with her so that he would be able to start drinking. He's been doing that for quite sometime now.

A few minutes, maybe fifteen, later, he returned downstairs. Progress was made on dinner, and I had returned to my drawing. He made himself another drink, and then returned to his room. This reoccured numerous times before dinner was done at nine. When dinner was done, my mother served up everyone's plates, and then called up to him, saying that dinner was ready. He ignored her the first time. Then, she sat down and began to eat her dinner. A few minutes later, I looked toward the staircase and asked her why he hand't come down yet. She said she didn't know and called for him again. He answered with a shouted, "Yeah." and then didn't come downstairs until me, my mother, and my sister had all nearly finished our dinner. Before he came into the dining room, my mom had asked me to put his plate in the microwave so that it would stay warm for him, and I told her I was going to leave it out to get cold. She had told him dinner was done, so it would be his own fault if his dinner was cold. I have no pity for people who treat those better than them like s**t.

He came down before his dinner could get cold enough to satisfy me, but whatever. Even if I don't like him, I don't like to wish him bad, even if it does become increasingly simpler.

Anyway, when he came down, he grabbed his plate from the counter, and brought it further into the kitchen, and set it down by the cabinet that he keeps his liquor in. I made a hand gesture to my mother that made her smile slightly that involved my backhanding him. He ate isolated from the rest of us. My mother asked him why he was doing over there, and he responded with some incomprehensible muttering, and I proceeded to roll my eyes. I didn't feel the need to know why he was being childish. I expect it from him most times. The three of us finished eating and began to straighten up, and he dumped the remainder of his dinner into the garbage, dropped his plate into the sink, made another glass of his preferred drink of bacardi and coke. Smelly a** s**t.. It's like he's drinking nail polish remover to me.. I made a few smart remarks to up my mothers' spirits upon his departure, and then, we decided to do our own things. My sister went up to her room, my mom put on her iPod and started to do crossword puzzles, and I came on the computer to write this story for all of you fine people.

Fun stuff, eh? Anyway, I guess I don't feel much better, so this was a waste of my time. Hope you enjoyed though.

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