Less than a few miles from downtown Marshall, Texas in the piney woods of East Texas is a house of daily horrors so stultified, so backwards, so ‘et up’ with unnecessary stupid that it makes Tobacco Road look like The Great Gatsby. I live there with my momma and sister. I’m still trying to justify to myself how that happened.
The old saying “Let the devil take the hindermost” has new meaning to me now that I’m older & slower. If the devil is going to catch me out anywhere, it’s going to be here in this disheveled, disintegrating, demon-possessed house.
Here is a picture of my momma, middle of the afternoon and still in her nightgown. Why dress up? We ain’t going nowhere.
Momma likes folks to call her “JJ.” My sister calls her “Shortshit” because for such a short woman, 5’1”, momma can dish out a lot of shit. She likes for us to gather around the dining room table and talk smack about the neighbors.
I tried introducing momma to the “internets” but she found local gossip infinitely more interesting than the national stuff and she didn’t think any of her Tuesday afternoon St Joseph’s Church card games club ladies had email addresses.
No, momma wasn’t much interested in the “internets’, but she did love to sit on her “supervisor’s rockin’ chair” listening to my sister Beth talk about all the wrongs people in Marshall, Texas in general had done to her and specially about all the wrongs the men in Beth’s life had done, the dirty dogs.
It’s December and it snowed here on the unkempt House of Daily Horrors yesterday. How about that? Gypsy necromancers were in town and brought snow to the piney woods of east Texas. Imagine that. White powdery stuff falling from the sky. It was magic! But a consortium of city elders who have theirs and who also have never liked change, lit their torches and chased off the snow gypsies so that there would be no more snow in the piney woods of east Texas today.
My sister Beth is an industry. She keeps the east Texas judges, lawyers, doctors, counselors, rehab center nurses, pharmacists, medicaid paper pushers, nuthouse orderlies, social workers and ambulance drivers employed.
There is a lot of paperwork involved in being an industry, though. Gazing with awe at my sister’s tumulus of disheveled papers, receipts and To Do notes that fill closets, bedrooms and boxes out in the garage, I realize that she truly is The Girl With The Golden Eyesore.
It’s not all bad, though. Whenever I get depressed about living in a house with my drunken drug zombie sister and co-dependent momma, I have my French kissing little schnauzer to comfort me.
But while my sister rummages through her piles of court documents in a highly agitated state of drug-induced tweaking, I’m still looking through the closets MY genius loci MUST be hiding in, looking for a way out.
Meanwhile, momma is asking the age old question: “Why me?”
The other night me & momma had to clean up a trail of Beth’s beer poop from her bed down the hall to the toilet. Took 6 towels, a mop and 8 wash cloths. Beth just growled “THERE’S POOP ON THE FLOOR!” and went back to bed as if mom and me were the hired help PAID to wipe up her shit. What an asshole. Literally.
My sister’s got me singing the Bingo song every day. Only instead of B-I-N-G-O, I’m singing, “B-I-T-C-H, B-I-T-C-H, and BITCH-O is her name!”
And every night Beth lies in bed screaming at momma for not feeding her in bed or bringing enough soda pops & cigarettes all day. The fact that Beth tore up momma’s car so momma couldn’t go get Beth’s bedside groceries is momma’s problem, Beth says.
My sister traded in her $500 car that had no reverse for a $1000 Chevy Blazer that has no radio. So now she’s looking for a mechanic to salvage the radio out of momma’s Beth-broken car. Can’t drive around town high without jams!
It’s December and the snow has gone. I’ve got Christmas season depression here at the house of daily horrors in the piney woods of east Texas where everybody is high except me, including my dog.
I’m wondering if it would be tacky to film my sister’s beer & drugs black diarrhea trails from her bed thru the hallway ALMOST to the toilet. Would that be tacky? Or maybe I should just film my 78 year-old mother straining and grunting to clean it all up to my big fat lazy sister’s satisfaction.
My sister has tried everything she could think of to get me out of here so she could go back to having momma’s purse all to herself with nobody around to object: false police reports, false APS complaints, poisoning me, poisoning the dog, setting my clothes on fire, being a Class A bitch, inciting a dumbass hillbilly to attack me…..everything. She must be getting pretty frustrated by now. I’m still here.
MY DAILY JOURNAL OF DECEMBER’S DAILY HORROR
1. A few days ago my sister lost her December’s medicaid ration of pro and anti-psychotic meds ($3,500) worth, so it should start getting pretty psychotic around here. I’ll let you know who gets killed.
2. I found where momma hid Beth’s anti-psychosis medication and returned it to Beth. Momma is mad at me. She wanted them for herself. Meanwhile, my pumpkins are withered.
3. Beth’s passed out and momma’s drinking corn whisky on the couch waiting for our mechanic who only works on our vehicles after midnight.
4. Awoke today to find the house full of gas and the laundry/kitchen floors under water. Beth & momma were sitting on the couch drinking cocacolas and grinnin’.
5. 4:30 this morning Beth ran her $1000 blazer into a big drainage ditch down at the bottom of Forest Trail. She ran away from it leaving her purse, phone & beer. I had it 5 feet out of the hole pulling with my 4wd truck but Beth got impatient and chose to have a $75 tow truck bill. Momma’s $75, not Beth’s.
6. Woke this afternoon to find momma sobbing in the living room about committing suicide while Beth was eating snow crab in bed.
7. The ambulance techs and police finally left our house tonight. The cops promised that either momma or Beth was going to jail if they had to come back so mom and Beth are gonna stop dragging each other up and down the hall for the night, but just as sure as God made little green apples, cops and EMTs will be called back here to our little house of daily horrors. If not tomorrow, the next day. If not this week then next.
8. Beth & momma, with sleeves rolled up, sea juices dribbling down their unwashed chins & salting their exposed (pot bellied) midriffs, sat open-legged on the duct-taped couch and exclaimed to each other, “I do believe these here crawdads sure gots good muscle tone!” as they struggled to remember why oh why the Marshall cops were just in their living room 10 minutes ago.
9. My sister is a potpourri of smells. When she walks past me, I smell ham and shit and fear and deep dark vinyan craziness.
10. I gotta give her credit, my sister Beth has interesting hallucinations. Last night with the Marshall cops & EMTs it was millions of inch-tall New Yorkers climbing along the face boards, holding hands, in her room. Tonight she’s screaming at semi-visible midget American Indian gypsies of low moral character messing around on her furniture. I’ve got tonight’s hallucination on tape & will be uploading it to Youtube soon.
11. Wow! My sister Beth has been hallucinating for 49 hours straight! Does anybody have the Guinness World Records phone number?
12. My big fat drug-addled sister with the long strand of brown-spotted toilet paper hanging down from her butt like a paper tail as she stumbles up and down the hallway looking for a pipe is the nastiest sight you ever smelled. Oh well, everyone waltzes to a different Johann Strauss. I guess my sister’s is the Danse Macabre.
13. Woke up to find my little dog drunk. She had momma’s secret stash bourbon on her little drunken doggy breath. Momma denies the dog got the booze from her, but she denies ALL truth. And I just can’t believe that the liquor store would sell whisky to an underaged dog.
14. So let me get this straight: the apoplectic cow in the next room, the one hanging with the diabetic goat, has a semi-visible gypsy Indian infestation problem in her closet and inch tall hand-holding New Yorkers scurrying along her face boards but the local cops won’t escort her off to the funny farm because she still remembers her name and address? Is that what I’m telling you? Yes. Yes it is.
15. My sister Beth sleeps best with a high wattage floor heater heating her feet, a window unit air conditioner icing her face and someone else paying the electric bill.
16. Walked into the kitchen to find my mom and sister hunched down over a haunch of pork and as they were sweating and ripping the flesh off the carcass and squealing and smacking their lips and I thought the whole scene looked…..well…..cannibalistic.
Merry Christmas, 2009