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8:30 a.m. - 2013-04-04
hatchet work
I didn't sleep at all last night. They've discontinued A's grandma's chemo and they've given her two weeks to live. A slept some, restlessly, but I couldn't. I don't know what to say or do. I hate that.

I did, however, kill off a character in my novel. With a hatchet.

At least my f'ed-up family is finally coming in useful to me. When I was a tween-teen I spent a lot of time thinking up ways to kill my dad before he killed me or one of my brothers. I used to make lists of pros and cons on paper folded down the middle to make two neat columns, like they taught us in Life Skills class in middle school. "When you are facing a major decision, make a list of the pros and a list of the cons and then compare the two so you can make a decision based on reason and not emotion."

At the time the two main methods I was considering were a) shotgun and b) beating/stabbing him to death while he slept. Once I stood over him for a very long time while he was sleeping holding a cast-iron frying pan, but I decided that I'd probably just piss him off and get myself killed if I used it.

I also thought about attacking him with a hatchet while he was using his chainsaw. He could never hear over the damn thing and you'd have to stand in front of him and jump and down and wave your arms to get his attention. I figured he'd probably never notice me coming from behind with a hatchet.

That's the scenario I ended up using in my ... work of fiction.

I'm really not a bloodthirsty person, for the record. I've never considered killing anyone but my dad; it's never been within my realm of imagination. Him, though -- I could have, and sometimes I think how different my life would probably be if I had and how narrowly I escaped being a murderer. What ended up happening was that social services intervened and kicked him out of the house and made him get anger management counseling, and I think he was facing criminal charges if he did it again. So he didn't. On top of that I told him that if he ever touched one of my brothers again I'd kill him. I meant it, and I think he knew I meant it. He never gave me the opportunity to prove it, smart man.

Amazing how a man who "lost control" so frequently could gain control when he stood to lose enough.

In my novel, my main character thinks as she is hatcheting her victim to a pulp that there is no way he could ever be dead enough.

Sometimes I feel that way about my dad.



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