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How Bob Died
Suzie killed Sally’s brother Michelle because he killed Suzie’s cousin Amber. In retaliation, Sally kills Suzie, causing Suzie’s mother Barbara to launch a foundation to raise money on behalf of Suzie. Brian, a lonely man living a town over, is irritated by the bombardment of social media posts regarding Suzie’s mother Barbara’s foundation for her daughter Suzie, so he decides to kill her. He succeeds, but shortly thereafter, Suzie’s mother Barbara’s husband Greg takes revenge and kills Brian. Greg is incarcerated with a life sentence while Suzie’s mother Barbara’s final will and testament is read to her next of kin. Amongst the grieving is Suzie’s cousin, Ambrosia, who is left out of the will in favor of her brother, Ammo. In a state of mournful rage, Ambrosia kills Ammo, whose husband and children relocate to another county. However, their grumpy faces upset a resident of their new town, Randi, who kills all of them. Randy is then sentenced to death. Sally also died.
Nov 16, 2024
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This early draft i started writing in 2023 about my observations of a couple of close family members
The events I describe occurred in late 2022 and Jim ended up passing away from complications of his alcoholism in January 2023 (his death convinced my own father to quit drinking). Jim taught me how to shoot and his favorite activity was going to the range. We had countless conversations over black coffee about his childhood in Ireland, the writings of James Joyce, and the film adaptations of Tennessee Williams’s work. He was tremendously charming and had a sharp sense of humor. I was like the daughter he never had and I loved the bastard! May he rest in peace. (Might have to finish writing this…)
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“Catherine had a mind like a pit bull. Whatever the obstacle that presented itself in front of her, she would attack it with unrelenting determination. She always got her way.
She had never come across a problem she couldn’t fix, except for what her brother had become.
It’s not like she had a lot of money, but she felt it was her duty to help her brother. She went into thousands of dollars of debt procuring for him new furniture that would hopefully give him a new lease on life: a tasteful grey tweed three-seater sofa; a cozy armchair with a matching footstool befitting a family patriarch; a mid-century modern wooden coffee table; an oversized gold tripod lamp with a barrel shade.
She felt she could trigger a powerful change if she could just replace the trappings of his old life which were so loaded with bad memories — memories from before, in the blink of an eye, it had became apparent to her that Jim was in his final death spiral. If life looked normal, life could become normal.
Denial is a powerful drug, almost as powerful as the liter of Fireball Jim would drink every day, metered out and portioned into little airline-sized bottles so he could retain some semblance of control. He would hide them in his dresser drawers, outside amongst his tools on the front porch, in the kitchen cabinets, under the bathroom sink.
She would discover them time and time again, after he had promised to her that he would stop. She would confront him with the evidence each time he betrayed her. If she could just make him feel an appropriate amount of shame, he would surely see the error of his ways.
He had to be drunk all day every day, or he would get the DTs like he had before. He couldn’t take time off of work to go to rehab, he said; he had already been given a special work-from-home accommodation and was still on the verge of being fired for absenteeism. And plus, he was running out of days of covered inpatient rehabilitation treatment under Medicare.“
May 14, 2024
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My boyfriend did not die in 1991. I told a lie and it turned into a fact, forever repeated in my official biography. He died on Christmas Day, 1990, when his family disconnected the mechanical breathing machine. He was a composer in the school of music. We were working on a piece for voice and strings. I liked writing the words under the whole notes, hyphenating them to make them last. I liked sitting on the bed in his apartment, writing on the sheet music—bigger paper, thicker, how it sounded when it fell to the floor when we got tired. It was winter break, friends in town, we hopped from party to party, catching up but separately. It was late, the night was clear, the roads were empty. The four of them were sober, the driver in the other car was not. I was a few miles away, in a bar, waiting. When the bar closed, I left him an angry message for standing me up. A few hours later, a friend called and told me. He suggested I break into the apartment and start removing things before the family arrived. For several minutes I didn’t understand, then—evidence. He hadn’t told his family and it didn’t seem right to tell them now, to suggest that they didn’t really know him. I drove in the darkness between the accident and dawn. I climbed through the window. I couldn’t figure which things looked suspicious and which things would be missed. I was sloppy, rushed. I grabbed the wrong sheet music. It was a piece that had already been performed. A few days after Christmas there was a memorial. I sat in the back. As part of his speech, his father mentioned the missing music and made an appeal for its return. I couldn’t give it back. On New Year’s Eve, in a black velvet jacket, at a party in the lobby of a downtown hotel, with a drink in each hand—one for him, one for me—I kept asking where he was, if anyone had seen him. I had his passport in my back pocket. I shouldn’t have taken that either. It was the only picture of him I could find.
Oct 28, 2024
I have a lot of terrible memories that took place there but there are also beautiful memories. they had a comfortable warm and inviting home in the country and in the moments where I wasn’t being confronted with my family dysfunction I felt so normal. They called the bedroom my sister and I would stay in the princess room; it had two twin beds and a huge collection of VHS tapes, board games, and vintage children’s books. When I grew up my boyfriend and I got to stay in the one of the grownup rooms with en suite bathroom, pictured, which was a defining moment for me. I loved waking up before everybody, making coffee in the sun room, sitting there and reading the Dallas Morning News looking out into the garden. My grandfather sold the house before we had our falling-out and they’ve since passed so I couldn’t go back even if I wanted to.
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I would also say my paternal grandfather's house, which sat on a huge tract of land with pecan and pomegranate trees which we would pick up off of the ground. An irrigation dam ran behind it. In the winter, I would stomp on the cracked dry earth to break it beneath my feet, and shatter the ice that would form in the bird bath.
The walls were lined with my great grandmother’s pastel art from when she went to finishing school and my grandmother’s embroidery pieces. There was a wood paneled library with smoke-stained classic books, many of which I have with me today. My dad and his brother had a play room painted in primary color blue, yellow, and red, and my sister and I could play with all of their old toys and look at their old books. My grandmothers glass shoe and bell connection as well as her vanity set had all been left exactly as they were and I would admire them every time we visited. She died before I was born but I always felt a strong connection to her and I would love to have space to display her collections someday!
And I adored my grandfather who had been so prickly with my father and his brother but was so sweet to me. He would always give me porcelain dolls he bought on QVC. his house smelled like rotten bananas because he would buy them and forget to eat them. He died when I was about six years old and I said why couldn’t it have been my other grandfather that died (lol). I miss him a lot and I think he would be proud of me! 🫶
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Oh and my mom‘s dead gay best friend Jackie’s house which he shared with his partner Aaron, a sculptor who was close friends with Cormac McCarthy. I learned everything about sophistication in decor from them and their house was my favorite place on earth. He would have a huge Christmas party every year and go BALLS TO THE WALL DECORATING; other professors from the university and artists would hobnob and I would eat inappropriately too many hors d’oeuvres (he would get all of his charcuterie and shrimp cocktail from COSTCO). His kitchen had black and white checker board floors with cherry red accents and Betty Boop decor. I miss him so much too!!!
Jul 18, 2024
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Feb 10, 2025
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Is there a word better than “gloomy”?
Phonetically it sounds so cute and modern, but it looks kinda formal or antiquated when written out. Also the way it can be used to describe a feeling and/or a type of weather is fun
Feb 4, 2025
Nov 15, 2024