Hello and Happy New Year from your old pal Phil; once again, I'm writing for my older sister because she can't; well, she could but she isn't allowed anything sharper than a crayon and she isn't dealing with the real world. Things are not going well for her at all; that's because round about the tenth, she Houdinied out of her room and somehow got to the phone. I know that because I was the poor sucker she called; as usual, she was babbling away about something that happened years ago and didn't happen the way she thought it did. Even when she was lucid, she never understood what happened between me and her friend Connie. I could overlook her thinking that Connie was an innocent victim when she herself admits that she talked herself into thinking there was more there than there was because we all know that El thinks that women are the passive victims of evil men. I could, at the same time, shrug off Sis's bizarre notion that I had to stop playing headache music and live a real life; that's because I've spent my whole life listening to her not understand that there's more than one way to do things and her inability to let go of a grudge. What I can't stand is something that still bothers me -- the way she made it all about her. It's like multiplying by zero with her 'cause every blasted thing in the world turns into "Poor, put-upon, miserable Elly; look how she suffers. She has no help and everyone is out to get her." No wonder she cracked up; she could have lived the life she told Mike, April and Liz she did and still gone mad.
Speaking of the present day, her little stunt has earned her a one-way trip to the isolation ward for the immediate future; it might seem cruel but that's probably for the best. That way, they can make sure she takes her meds and goes to therapy. She hates both those things, of course; the pills, you see, make her see bad things she doesn't want to see; she prefers her distorted past to the horrible "world of impossible lies" everyone else lives in and the therapy sessions all end badly because she'd rather not admit that everyone, everywhere is NOT out to crush her because she's too awesome. I mean, if nobody cared about her one way or the other and the world didn't revolve around her, she'd have wasted her life getting upset over nothing at all. If you think she'd admit THAT, well, you don't know her.
As for me and Georgia, we've had a quieter Christmas than Elly's side of the family; we e-mailed our sympathies to both Deanna and Claire, whose mother died before she told her how grateful she was to have been adopted by such a great person, while getting ready for the Christmas concert for cancer research. We raised $110,000 playing stuff that would have driven "If I can't sing along to it, it's not music" Elly even loopier; not bad for playing bees, bops and one blue after another.
ANYways, I have to cut things short 'cause me and mine are ringing in the New Year; here's hoping yours is a good one and that Elly's better by the end of it.
Postscript: I forgot to mention that I got some useful background information from Aunt Phyllis in England; she'll tell you all about it in a bit.