Waiting For Death

It's over.

Tue, 27 Nov 2012 14:35:30 -0500

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

Alas Poor Yorick

Sun, 21 Oct 2012 18:52:00 -0400

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?

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

Tue, 03 Jul 2012 11:24:41 -0400

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!

dissolving in your own vitriol

Mon, 02 Jul 2012 12:46:28 -0400

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 even

Sun, 01 Jul 2012 21:16:09 -0400

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

Day 103 - June 27, 2012

Wed, 27 Jun 2012 08:52:26 -0400

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

Like a pinata.

Day 102 - June 26, 2012

Wed, 27 Jun 2012 08:51:21 -0400

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.

Day 101 - June 25, 2012

Mon, 25 Jun 2012 11:58:17 -0400

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.

Day 100 - June 24, 2012

Sat, 23 Jun 2012 23:26:42 -0400

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.

Day 99 - June 23, 2012

Sat, 23 Jun 2012 23:23:00 -0400

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.

Day 98 - June 22, 2012

Sat, 23 Jun 2012 23:20:00 -0400

Supposedly if someone dies while cold, their skin retains a pink hue.

Day 97 - June 21, 2012

Wed, 20 Jun 2012 23:50:50 -0400

One day she will be lying awake in bed, and a jet engine will appear from nowhere to crush her feeble ass. The authorities will be baffled.

Day 96 - June 20, 2012

Wed, 20 Jun 2012 23:49:16 -0400

One day the hellmouth below the house will open and spew a mixture of noxious gasses into the house. She’ll breath it in and her lungs will liquefy.

Day 95 - June 19, 2012

Wed, 20 Jun 2012 23:48:12 -0400

One day, the house will flood when no one is home, and she’ll be in it. She’ll be stuck in the cart and the water will rise more than four feet.

Day 94 - June 18, 2012

Mon, 18 Jun 2012 00:41:31 -0400

Things justified by my grandmother being a goblin:

Bizarre eating habits

Ridiculous lifespan

Shriveled body / reduced size

Tight grip on pennies

Lose grip on things that actually matter

Constant need to use the phone (for nefarious goblin plot organizing, of course.)

Pills seem to have no adverse effects (inhuman constitution)

Unyielding desire to spy and snoop in spite of lack of rogue-like abilities

Mind like a steel trap

Ignorance of common human etiquette

Stubbornness

Lack of empathy

Refusal to listen to reason, common sense, or anything beyond long ingrained habits

Lawful Evil Alignment

Conclusion: I confirm my hypothesis from Day 93.

Day 93 - June 17, 2012

Mon, 18 Jun 2012 00:31:04 -0400

My grandmother used to work at a bank. Secretly being a goblin could explain things.

Day 92 - June 16, 2012

Sat, 16 Jun 2012 22:09:58 -0400

Sometimes I suspect that she’s using the garden and trees to generate a supplemental life-force. I have no other explanation for this bullshit.

Day 91 - June 15, 2012

Sat, 16 Jun 2012 21:59:50 -0400

You know how mummies and vampires and shit are afraid of cats? So is my grandmother.

Day 90 - June 14, 2012

Thu, 14 Jun 2012 11:11:42 -0400

My grandmother has a riverfront property. A few years ago, the city decided to put shrubbery and shit all along the river’s edge to preserve the banks. My grandmother can’t see the river anymore, and she bitches about this endlessly.

I don’t think you understand how intolerable this woman is. She harped about this endlessly for a year and a half.

Finally my father went out to the banks with m80’s and took out the plant life that was obscuring her view.

Day 89 - June 13, 2012

Wed, 13 Jun 2012 15:42:54 -0400

Back in the days when pogs were a big thing I went to the flea market with my grandmother and her sister. Back then they could both walk, albeit with the walker cage mechanisms. They were slow. Agonizingly slow.

How I wasn’t kidnapped is a mystery.