  One of my first memories is my great grandmother. She told me some stuff, most of which I don�t remember, except that she told me I was special, and something about the sight. The next memory was of Grammy�s wake. It was before there was a wake house home, so the people were waked for three days in their own house. The dearly departed were not to be left alone for this period, and for some reason I forget, the mirrors were covered.
Anyways, I remember Grammy lying in the casket, and one of the first things my Dad told me was to stay away from the stairs. No one was allowed upstairs, for any reason. So, my rebellious three year old ass attempts the stairs, steep stairs, had to climb up on all fours. Got to the second one and I was frozen to the spot, when I began to whimpered, I was released, and plunked down on my baby butt.
Throughout my life, there was always something off about the house, no one wanted to go visit Uncle Paul, and weird stories surfaced. As space is limited in the family homesteads, and Paul�s was vacated, my sis, her boyfriend (Pikey) and me and Kurt bunked there. The theme of the stay was frustration. Sis and Kurt were at odds, Sis and Pikey were WAY at odds, and I was immensely frustrated with myself, I was forgetting things, my weak stomach was not allowing me to help clean up, the thought of the bathroom had me dry heaving, so on and so forth. Kurt became sullen and withdrawn, Sis was uberbitch, and I was looking for any excuse to get the heck outta dodge. K, I admit, pretty innocuous so far. But the thing was, I know Kurt and sis better than pretty much anybody else, and they were not themselves.
Sis, for example, is bitchy, but not in the particular way she was whilst there. And Kurt can get all sullen, but never self-pitying, never angry in the I�m-sixteen-I�m-Pissed-I�ll-Show-Them sort of way. And I�ve been depressed, oh my Lord have I been depressed, but I�ve never been the sort to run away, I�m definitely more of a �fuck it� sort, and stick it out.
Know the poem about the guy whose head is bloody, but unbowed? That�s me, stubborn arse. So there was that. Then, there was the ghost poo. But I�m going to leave you hanging for a bit more, as I want to go over in my head the other events that transpired at the House. As for right now, the Boss man wants me to sell 20 dishes. So far I sold one. I may be in trouble, but at least, today, I saw The Two Towers.
Only nineteen more to go, right? Also, the person that came up with brush on chocolate is a fricken genius. That�s all for now, Happy New Year. PS- Great to read your stuff, blogger newbies. Your best bet on posting sucessfully is to write it all in microsoft word, than pasting it rather than writing it all on the edit page. 
