Ugh...

Just got home from work. Dad's asleep in his room, and this time he didn't even bother hiding the half-empty glass of liquer. What's the point of even pretending to come home on time? He's going to be plastered anyway.

I haven't talked to him about it. The last time I said anything was a couple years ago, and he got upset and said stuff like he's allowed to have a little drink now and then. Well, goodness knows I don't deny that. But then, "now and then" isn't every fucking day.

I want to tell him to get the fuck away from me until he sobers up. I want to either pour out all his alcohol or put laxatives in it. Hell, maybe I should just drink it all and teach him to at least hide the damn stuff better. I hate him. Maybe I don't, and I just hate the drinking, but at this point I don't care. I hate him, and that's not going to change until he stops. Half the time I can't tell when he's drunk anyway.

Maybe I should spend the rest of the summer at my mom's house. I don't know. I don't want to be around him, because right now the only thing I like about him is he's a bit more lenient and he gives me more stuff. I know that if things don't change soon, I'm either leaving or killing/maiming him. I couldn't care less if he died right now. I even want him to die, and that seriously scares me now.