dreadedcandiru2 (dreadedcandiru2) wrote in binky_betsy,
dreadedcandiru2
dreadedcandiru2
binky_betsy

John's letter, December 2009


Well, here comes another Christmas season here at what Wilf Sobinski calls the Tiny Train House. Not, of course, that it's like any Christmas that I remember; for the first time in my life, I'm probably going to be alone over the Holidays. It's funny in a sad way; I used to fear something like this happening but now that I'm actually faced with it, it isn't really all that bad. Sure, I'll miss commenting on all the hustle and bustle in the kitchen, going down to a lot to get a big tree to put up (instead spending about fifteen minutes on the little plastic one that's in the living room) and braving the the scrum but a solo Yuletide wherein I order gift cards online seems so much more, well, orderly and civilized. Even the meal is taken care of because Ted invited me over...probably because nobody else would. Not, of course, that I can blame them; it's still circle-the-wagons time down in Colorado and I am not going to make things worse by sticking my beak into things. They had enough of that with Laura, thank you very much; she meant well, of course, but her ill-informed attempt to link what happened to Deanna with living in cities didn't go down well. It went almost as well as my reminding her that horses weren't the only thing capable of producing meadow muffins. This means I can kiss going to Aberdeen goodbye because Little Miss Touchypants didn't feel like being reminded she's the same kind of idiot blowhard I see whenever I shave.

Ah, well; at least she reminded me of something that needed doing: getting that nauseating creep Anthony calls a dad to shut his mouth. Remember when I was talking about how people had good reason to not trust me; I added another one to the pile because I didn't want to see how big a jerk he is. The nerve of that guy trying to blame what happened to Deanna on her having a straight job instead of running a sewing school or some such foolishness; that, and Granola Girl blathering about how not organic our lives are got me to add my voice to Tracey's cause. It won't and can't redeem me (because there really isn't such a thing) but at least I've taken someone with me as I fall.

Speaking of irrevocable harm, Elly is, as you know, back in the CMH; now that she's escaped before, she's been declared a flight risk and been given an ankle bracelet so the police can grab her if she tries making another break for it. Since about one of the few things I know about her is that she's not good with tools, she'll probably half-way kill herself trying to remove it (kiss your bridgework goodbye, Hon!!) before she's back in lockdown. It's a disgusting thing to admit but I learned more about her in the last three or four months than I did all that time we were married; that's another reason I'm not going to make the rounds this year. I mean, who wants to be around some fool who doesn't know who the people in his life are? It's not as if there's anything I can do to make things better so it's for the best that I'm not there being a reminder of how to not live. About all I do know is that whatever form Elly's life takes after she's 'better', my part will be that of a walk-on; it's pretty much what I deserve.

Chee, look at the time!! I'll have to cut things short 'cause I'm being interviewed for W-5 in half an hour and need to at least look as if I have some sense. I'll get back to you next month to tell you what happened here.

Yours,
John.
Tags: retcons
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