And your jokes, they are always bad.
Marie woke up at 6am. ‘Woke up’. What a joke. How on Earth do you wake up if you don’t sleep?.. On the one hand, what’s the point. On the other hand, the noise outside my room is like a tone-deaf choir of insane cats. Or is it all in my head. Be my head and I’ll be yours. Who sang that? Not Pavement, surely.
Under the breakfast table someone kicked my left foot. For some reason, I thought it was my dad. It was like the fucker knew I knew and wanted to stop me from saying anything. Why would I. I would not. I’m fucking psyched about the whole thing now. I want to die. I want to kill. I want to be part of it. Whatever ‘it’ is.
Right after breakfast I put on my coat and my mittens and went outside (Eric: can I come with you? Marie: no). A pair of gloves for my mom. A pack of Christmas candles for my dad. A teapot for Hilda and Tom. In fact, I had to think hard if I hadn’t bought the very same things for last Christmas. Eric is getting a book of ghost stories. Don’t ask.
December rain. There’s nothing worse than a rainy day in December. After all, who needs rain in winter? Back at home, so soon, I talked to my mom. I showed her blood stains on the fridge, under the Christmas tree, on the door handle outside my room. My mom wiped the stains away with a napkin – but with no great concern. As if only to indulge me. Her daughter.
Everybody seems so indifferent to what is about to happen. But maybe they are: unaware of the inevitable. Grossly, freakishly unaware. And I have to stare at my food (no appetite) every meal. Eric said over dinner he had a great present for me this year. Jo winked. How does Jo want to go? With a heavy vase? With a pair of sharp scissors? With a knife?..
Rushing to the kitchen after dinner, I grabbed the last bottle of sleeping pills and ran up again. Outside: Jo is playing the piano. Eric is playing with himself. Tom and Hilda are watching each other with contempt and suspicion. Emily is trying to calm Peter down with passionate foreplay. My parents are barely looking at each other. Marie is smoking her last cigarette.
P.S. Tomorrow. By now – I care so much I basically no longer give a damn.
P.P.S. Did you get it? Oh did you? Look again. Look again.