0302 Volts

I awoke this morning to the familiar, arrhythmic clanging of antiquated pipes, a sound that once drove the sane mad and drove the mad (yours truly) to a peaceful slumber. I've recently been having dreams, nightmares that until the morning after Thanksgiving I could not remember.

At dusk, terrible shrieks apparently echoed through the halls of the Manor. My brother saw that I was awake, and we went downstairs for the annual lighting of the Christmas tree, a majestic and immortal (plastic?) Douglass fir. The Christmas lights buzzed, stunned by electric current, and then suddenly, a seemingly disconnected sonata, reminiscent of a Schoenberg composition, banged from the pipes. I always knew my sister would come back; she wasn't dead, simply dormant.

Weakened, she could only physically manifest herself as electrical current, and then flowed through the conducive metal pipes -- her favorite mode of travel. My horrific visions are crystallizing; she will regain her strength.

Bold Move

Figuring it to be sufficient notice, I told my sister today that I'd be moving out in 30 days. She remarked that family members must give 30 years' notice, and even then D. might not approve it. I hate her so much right now.

She also asked where exactly I was planning on moving. I had not anticipated this trick question, so I simply said, "Across the street." D. reminded me that things did not end very well for a tenant who recently attempted such a thing. Something involving a garbage chute? I have no fucking idea what she's talking about, nor do I ever.

Fear

D is getting the guitine ready. She can smell the stench of organization. She went to the roof last night and quivered with fear. No one can see her on the roof, or so she thinks.

Cold hearted bitch

So while she was out roaming the building, I read my sister's journal!

I sense revolution brews in the hearts of my people -- but I do not live in fear. I will deprive them of the heat necessary for survival in the upcoming winter months. Even mighty Napoleon's army succumbed to the Russian cold. The weak among them will die, and the strength of their leaders will deteriorate until they are no longer a threat.

The seeds of revolution may have been planted, but they cannot withstand the frost.

Usually, she likes to rain on people's parades; I guess this time it's more like snow!

A dish best served cold

Most people agree that the funniest section of the newspaper is the comics. But not my sister. She always gets a good chuckle out of the Weather page, particularly around this time of year. "A low of 37 degrees tonight," she said aloud this morning. She glanced at the nearest thermostat, which read 59 degrees. My sister's policy on indoor heating: So long as it's warmer inside than out, the heat remains off.

Seasons may change, but not D. She's the same greedy, cold-blooded wench she's always been. In fact, it's this last quality that allows her to thrive under the frigid, inhuman conditions she so enthusiastically imposes upon her tenants.

Missing person

Where is Katherine Kelly? I saw her face on a milk carton. Has she been found yet? I am deeply worried. I wonder if she will pop up anywhere. Perhaps the Airforce.

Cats and Dogs

Its raining. I hope the roof doesn't leak. I'm just not strong enough to handle her backhand today.