Waiting For Death

I received the call around 13:00 today. It’s over. 

I’m at something of a loss. Last week the lich had some form of massive stroke. Now she’s hallucinating bizarre shit like having lunch with Italians two towns over and mysterious figures stealing (but then replacing) the pond lanterns. 

Still at odds with the idea of being a phylactery, I had convinced myself that the day would never come. Yet here we are, around the bend, at the end of 2012. 

I’m betting she causes the apocalypse one way or another. Any takers? 

brazanthr asked: So was this supposed to be like affirmations or something? Where you just write your dreams down every day until they come true?

I have no idea what this “affirmations” project is, but maybe it’s something like that.

As Stephen King might say, “Wish in one hand, shit in the other. See which fills up faster.”  

No, this is just poison bile that needs to be expelled. Sometimes the horror of someone else works its way so deep into you, there simply isn’t the necessary time to talk to anyone about it. 

We [college friends] used to make something of a game out of plotting my grandmother’s death… all facetious, of course, but great long strategies none the less. It was like a morbid game in the style of D&D that would result in my family’s freedom from tyranny! 

I’ve realized lately that I could probably write a book on this topic alone; “How to rot in your own poison.”

I don’t really want to, though. I’ve wanted to do this less and less, and maybe it’s something to do with not wanting to focus on my own anger anymore… Being hateful isn’t going to make her any less alive. 

This has been a mostly accurate record of my memories of her. From now on, I will be posting exclusively to answer questions. 

I don’t… it just keeps… going. I thought that it would be over by now. I really did. 

Occasionally I find myself wishing that her head was full of candy.

Like a pinata. 

I’ve never seen her do the typical old person thing with hard candies, in spite of all of her other bullshit. 

She has stolen everything possible from every restaurant we’ve ever been to, though. 

I simultaneously await and dread the day that she dies, because I have no idea how we are going to sell the house. It’s impossible for us to live in, and it’s damn near impossible to get up to code. 

It’s almost as though she planned this from the start. 

I wonder if blogs work like paper cranes. If I post 1000 times, do you think that will do the trick? 

I can’t help but think of Lake Placid, as well… maybe one day when the house floods, a crocodile will float itself through the front door. 

Tragedy would strike when the poor critter choked on that hag’s bony ass. 

I also remember hearing on some television show that when someone dies in a fire their skeleton changes color… 

I have no idea if that’s bullshit, but there’s too much of my stuff in the attic to wish for the house to burn down. I guess we’ll never know.