The holidays are almost over...

but the horror has just begun. I arrived at my parents two days late, due to my decision to drive instead of flying. Because driving takes longer. And in a car, when I reach their turn-off, I always have the option to just keep driving; maybe down to Florida. Planes don't offer such a luxury. As it stands, I took the coward's path, and their turn-off. Simultaneously, in fact. I still managed to arrive on Christmas morning, despite my best efforts. Mother started in immediately, asking why I don't visit or even call as much as Jeff (my brother;) see what I meant in that last post? I told her my phone was broken. As well as my car. For some reason, she didn't buy it. Dad didn't say a word to me. Just lit a cigarette, reached past me to pick up the paper, and went back inside. Jeff was there with his girlfriend. Who is gorgeous, by the way. And I am pretty sure thinks I stare just a wee bit too much. Is it my fault she wears such sheer, clingy sweaters?
Whatever. Jeff can kiss my ass.
Naturally, Mother wouldn't allow those two to sleep in the same bed, what with the lack of rings and all. Which just meant that they took up both spare rooms, and snuck out to sleep in the same bed anyway. Heh, there's irony for you- I have the ring and sleep alone, they don't, and sleep together. So anyway, it turns out that there was still a place for me. Great News, son! We converted part of the barn into a spare room! Son of a BITCH. I didn't even bother pointing out that it probably wasn't the best place for me to sleep, considering I saw one of the my best friends as a child die out there, and all. Mother would have told me I should have gotten there sooner, like Jeff. Little ass-kiss had probably already been there a week. I didn't bother to ask.
So Christmas actually went okay. For about an hour. Jeff went and bought me one of those netbook things, which I am currently using. It's nice enough, and was actually pretty thoughtful of him. I would like to say something barbed and nasty about it, but truth is, I kind of like it so far. Mother bought me a picture frame that has multiple spaces "for pictures of the whole family." She claims she forgot that 2/3s of the family don't live at my house anymore. She must have forgotten that for a whole year, then. She really knows just how to tighten the thumbscrews. Sometimes, I wish I could hate her.
Dad, on the other hand, no problem there. He put out a cigar on my suit jacket. That was my present from Dad. No, he isn't abusive, or an overly physical guy. He just hates me, because I am the reason he got saddled with Mother, if you catch my drift. To make things even better, he couldn't even enjoy his wedding night, since I was kind of making use of the area he was interested in. Makes their anniversary easy to remember, if I ever cared to. Yeah, so I swatted the cigar out of his hand, and it burned the rug. I may have lost a jacket, but he has to buy Mother a new rug. Serves the old SOB right. That was also right about when things fell apart. Mother first got mad at Dad, then started trying to make me feel guilty, since she can't make him feel anything anymore. I went to my "room" and sat on the bed. I can still make out scorch marks across the room, if I stare very, very hard. Isabel died right over... there. Nothing in particular marks the spot, but I will never forget it as long as I live.
Around dinnertime, Jeff came over to try to talk me back inside the house. He succeeded, and I came in, apologized to Mother about the rug, and called my Dad a bastard. Nobody but... Jenna? Jessa? Eh, who gives a crap? Jeff isn't going to be marrying her anytime soon anyway. Let's go with Jessica. Jessica seemed to take offense at this, but it didn't last. After all, she was around him long enough to get it. Dinner went okay. Nobody cussed at anybody, nobody stormed away from the table. Nobody acted like this morning even happened. Or like I spent most of Christmas day sitting in a barn. Which is par for the course. Dysfunctional at breakfast, dispassionate by dinner. I guess I reached past Jessica one too many times (any brushings against that occured were both accidental and unavoidable,) and she excused herself. Jeff soon followed. She headed outside to "get some air, Jeff in tow." Out the window, I saw the lights in my "room" click on, then off again. Great. I'll have to remember to take new sheets from the closet before I head out for the night. Mother started to clear the table, leaving me and Dad to avoid looking at each other. After about 20 minutes, he spoke, entirely of his own accord. "You were always a pain in the ass, did you know that?"
"Well thanks, I-"
"Shut the hell up, I aint finished. You been screwing my life up since the minute you were born. I just wanted to say thanks for screwing yours up, as well. Makes me feel a bit better."
It was just shortly after this that I gave him a black eye, and was about to break his jaw, when Mother came back into the room to see what all the hubbub was about. For some reason, she didn't take it too well, and told me to get outside, now. I saw no good reason not to. And forgot to get my sheets. Jessica and Jeff met me at the door of the barn, just on their way back to the house. This is when I remembered why I wanted the sheets in the first place. I considered going back into the house for them, and decided to go to a bar, instead. It turned out to be a much better place to spend the night.
Day after that, I went out shopping for a phone that would actually pick up out here in the ass-end of nowhere. There was one company. Turns out they really do pick up everywhere. They need to get rid of that one guy, and just adopt the slogan: "We even pick up in the ass-end of nowhere!" If that doesn't sell phones... Damn, I should have gotten into marketing, instead of being a failed author. When I got home, the lights were on in the barn again. I went and told Jeff that he could at least have the decency to tidy up after himself. He shot me an odd look. Whatever. I could care less, but not much. I also picked up one of those things where you can get internet pretty much anywhere. Turns out it really does work. If it didn't you wouldn't be reading this. I spent the rest of the afternoon looking up news stories about what happened all those years ago, just across from where I am sitting now. In fact, one of the photographers must have been standing just about here when he shot, because I can look up from this photo and still make out the lines of the boards that weren't too damaged to keep. Then Mother came out, red-eyed, and told me about Dad. I will tell all of you about that tomorrow.

I'm a real bastard, aint I?

This is Jack's blog

Let's all put down our weapons, and discuss this like civilized gentlemen.

First off, thank you to all of you who sent well-wishes and concerned inquiries. To put you all at ease, I am not, and never have been, suicidal. I apologize to anyone who showed undue concern over me. There. Wasn't that easy?

I suppose I owe you all a bit of backstory, to better put things into perspective. I am a 40-something career man. I had a wife, who I loved desperately, but not enough. I have a daughter who is the center of my world. I still love Susan, in a way, but my little Anna is the brightest point out there. I would die for her, but not by my own hand. Catch my drift? At any rate, my life basically reads like what people who don't listen to country think country is all about. I spent all my time building a career, and lost my family because of it. I haven't been close with my parents and siblings for years, and now my wife and baby girl are gone, too. I was handling things okay, but as Christmas crept ever closer, it started to get to me. And it triggered some weird sort of mid-life crisis, which spawned this blog and that awesome Twitter account. Yeah, I could have bought a Ferrari. But who needs all that sort of stuff?

Now, the Sig. I only own it because I took the subway home for quite a long time, and late trains that pass through the parts of town mine passed through aren't the safest of places. So I bought it to keep alongside me. The deal from yesterday morning was just... I don't know, a slap in the face? I needed to make everything seem real, to keep from just sinking into a fog. And well, even if you know you aren't going to use it, a gun in the mouth brings some damn clear focus, is all I am saying. And yes, it was stupid as all get out, and uncharacteristically stupid of me. But I won't need to be repeating that experiment, ever. It's not something one easily forgets.

On top of all this, I am leaving tonight for the old homestead. Which, as I touched on earlier, is not exactly where I want to be going. But Mom picked up on something in my voice, and turned on the old guilt switch. You would think, at my age, I could resist her head games. But she is the master, let me tell you. So I get to see a father I haven't had a reason to speak to in over 25 years, a mother who will just make me feel even more like a loser (again, not a suicidal loser, just the garden variety) and a brother who seems to exist only to inadvertently piss me off. Yeah, he doesn't do it on purpose, which makes it even worse. Cause I can't even be justifiably mad at him. So that is my plan for the holiday. What's yours?

This is Jack's blog.

P.S. and not to be a jerk, but to all of you who were concerned, remember, you shouldn't believe everything you read on the internet. After all, I could just be making all of this up, right?

What am I doing?

Seriously, what is the point of all this? Why am I wasting my damn time on some stupid crap blog... God, the word even sounds so stupid it pisses me off. Okay, wait, let me start again.

There.
Now.

I guess I am doing this... wait, am I going to show this to anybody? Do I really need to explain myself? This sucks.

Okay, I need a hook. All the books I've read on writing tell me I need a hook. Even if it's only for me, I need something to gather interest.

I spent about a half-an-hour of my time this morning with a gun in my mouth. (There. Didn't see that coming, did you?) Well it's the truth. A Sig Sauer P220 45 cal. We got to know each other pretty well. Maybe I will spend tomorrow that way, too. Maybe this blog won't get very many updates. I think the one may be inversely proportional to the other. I think that I might even spend a little more quality time with the Sig before bed. I guess...

I can't do it. I want to, dammit. I want to more than anything. But I couldn't do that to Annaliese. Not just before Christmas. Hell, I can't even do it to Susan. I would love to call her a lousy bitch, to say this is all her fault, to say she earned having to explain to Anna why her Daddy made her a pretty Christmas picture by blowing his head all over the wall. (I made it myself! Hah hah ha- ) Truth is, I can't deceive myself that way. It was my fault. Maybe not all of it, but enough, that's for damn sure. And I can't convince myself that I actually have the courage to off myself. Off myself? What, am I an extra in a lousy gangland movie now? I guess I am a big enough jerk to drive Susan and Anna out of my our house and into the not-so tender mercies of Susan's mother, but not big enough to steal Anna's daddy from her. How bad a person does that mean I am?