Your Mid-Week Update for 12/28/16

I hope everyone had a great holiday. I had a fantastic time. I endured a fifteen minute phone call with my mother, successful ignored my sister’s and my brother-in-law’s separate attempts to invade my family celebration, and managed to get the rest of the week off. I am free until the New Year and lord knows humanity needs a fresh start.

This has certainly been a crazy year.

Between Charlotte, and Heather; David Bowie, and Carrie Fisher; Donald Trump: I haven’t experienced such a roller coaster in quite a long time.

On the 23^rd (Friday), I was called into Ron’s office just as I was about to leave for the weekend. Now, Ron is a friendly enough person in the office. He’s not someone you want to go for drinks with after a long, hard week but the man’s an amicable boss with only a minor death wish (as all humans in my presence have). So when he called me in for a “quick chat” I wasn’t worried. Mostly curious. I was anxious to get home and have a festive but quiet evening with my family and the sooner that started, the happier I would be.

“You’ve been working hard, despite your injury.” He said. “Take the rest of the year off.”

Why didn’t he tell me this back in February?

So in lieu of a bonus, I get paid vacation. Paid vacation that I would have taken anyway. Why do I feel like the staff is missing something? I hate that we’re not being told the whole story.

In any case, I’m off until January 2^nd. I don’t know what I’ll do with all my free time. Other than the obvious: drink, kill, watch TV, rinse and repeat.

Which reminds me.

The versatility of lead pipe is astounding. Not just bludgeoning; you can ram it down your victim’s throat and force feed them arsenic; you can force them against the wall and crush their windpipe; endless opportunity for creativity. It’s been a very entertaining week.

On the afternoon of Christmas Eve, I answered the door to find my sister tearing me a new one because Andrew called her parole officer looking for her. How he got anyone’s number I’ll never know. But now my sister is terrified and I want to comfort her but I didn’t let her in for Christmas. After she left, I had a lengthy discussion with her PO about the situation and she agreed to keep an eye on my sister over the holidays. I haven’t heard anything so I assume everyone is all right.

I did get a concerned call from my mother Christmas morning asking why my sister was crying over her breakfast. I assured her that everything was under control, she forgot to wish me a Merry Christmas, and then hung up. Overall, the nicest conversation I think I’ve ever had with my mother.

And then…

AND THEN!

Andrew showed up Sunday night with a baseball bat thinking it would gain him entry into my household. James respectfully showed him the door with his fist and we haven’t heard from him since. I can only assume the worst.

Funny how that happens.

The only stressful thing to come from Christmas is that I finally had to tell Jason about his father. He was quiet the rest of the night and then Monday afternoon, he came into the kitchen where I was washing dishes and he told me that he wanted to meet his dad. I won’t refuse his request but he knows that he’s coming home with me at the end of the day. I have no way of contacting Andrew but I’ve promised Jason that next time he shows up, I’ll let him inside.

For my son.

It’s always for my son.

Or for me.

I care a lot about my well-being as well.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 12/21/16

Fucking Andrew fucking FUCK

He followed me home.

He knows where Jason is. He has access. And it’s all my fucking fault.

When my sister was sent to prison and I got custody of the kids, I became responsible for essentially renewing the restraining order. I was so distracted when Sandra passed away that I…I didn’t. I completely forgot. And now the order has lapsed and Andrew is coming after my family.

Security at work has strict instructions not to let him in the building and poor Heather got harassed on the way home yesterday so I’ve given her the day off. I actually feel so bad for her. Between Andrew and Lydia, that woman has had no breaks. And on top of that, my boss decided we didn’t need a Christmas Bonus this year. I’m going to do something nice for Heather.

Oh my god, listen to me. I want to be nice to Heather?

I blame Andrew.

It’s very easy to blame Andrew when I don’t want him in my life.

I just hate him. I hate what he’s done to my family, I hate that he wants back in. I still haven’t told Jason. He deserves to know but I just can’t bring myself to tell him. I don’t want to ruin his holiday. I’m too tired to ruin his holiday.

I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately. The pain in my side wakes me up in the middle of the night. I am so done with this injury. I just want to be better. Now I’m tired and sore all the time. Christmas sucks.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 12/14/16

Alright, dear readers, gather ‘round; I’m gonna tell you a story.

About twenty years ago, my sister and I were both roaming the streets, looking for our next victim. We were good at staying out of each other’s way and I can admit now that my sister was way better at her job than I was – at the time. She once did it across the street from the local police station without so much as an unreliable witness. She was good; great, even. You’ve heard me say that all before.

But everything changed when she met Andrew.

He was something so trivial – like a cashier at the supermarket – that I don’t even remember exactly what he did. He was slated to be my sister’s next victim but somehow, he charmed his way out of it and instead, they started dating. He never knew how close he came but after three months of seeing them together, I was about ready to kill him.

Andrew was a sadist if ever I saw one. And more than that, my sister knew it. She knew from day one that her boyfriend would sooner or later turn on her. But she was young and impressionable and he hadn’t done anything yet. He quit his job not long after meeting her and spent his time, using up her savings and taking control of her every move.

The day she brought him home for the first time, I was floored by how manipulative and cruel he was to my sister without her realizing it. I said this then and I’ll repeat it now: I hated Andrew from the very start.

When she became pregnant, I was terrified for my sister and her baby. Andrew wasn’t happy about being “tied down” four months into their relationship and he made that perfectly clear to anyone who could see my sister’s dislocated shoulder and bruised ribs.

The only reason he didn’t die the day I found out is because my sister begged me not to and I was stupid enough to believe her. I will never make that mistake again.

Just before Sandra was born, the two of them snuck away in the middle of the night and got married. I cried. I drove for three days just to find a fresh kill zone where no one would think to look for me. They still haven’t recovered every body from that park all those years ago.

I tried to take my sister and Sandra away from Andrew; we drove to a women’s shelter so far north, I couldn’t even pronounce the name of the town. But he found her and forced himself back into our lives. And all the while, my sister stopped doing her life’s work because it meant Andrew couldn’t keep tabs on her.

She was my sister and I saw her hurting; I know that what I’m saying sounds biased and exaggerated but she’s my baby sister and no matter how I think of her now, no one is allowed to hurt her. Andrew never knew what I did but he knew that I was protective and would perpetually get in his way. We always fought over my sister like she was a doll but I don’t regret fighting for her.

Through some miracle I have never been able to recreate, my sister came to her senses after Jason was born. She divorced Andrew and got a restraining order for her and the kids which she and I updated every 5 years. He wasn’t allowed in the same neighbourhood as them. He wasn’t allowed to attend the custody hearing when my sister was arrested. He wasn’t allowed to attend Sandra’s funeral. And no one batted an eyelash. I haven’t given him a second thought in 18 years. Best of all, she went back to doing what she loved. Maybe that time away from her craft is why she grew careless and got herself caught.

I tell you this because yesterday, the man came back to my office but this time I was there. He refused to leave the building until he spoke to me so I caved and went down to meet him.

Andrew is back.

I’m not listed on the initial restraining order so he can harass me all he wants. Now that I’m no longer Jason’s legal guardian, he wants my son’s contact information. When I refused, he threatened me with physical harm and without blinking, I threatened him right back.

I saw no fear in his eyes when I threatened to make him eat his intestines and lose each of his fingers and toes while he perpetually swallowed and vomited his own tongue for several days. I saw a challenge in his eyes. He’s not the same rabid dog I could kick when he misbehaved. He thinks he can get what he wants from me. He thinks I will fear him.

I’d love to see him try.

It’ll be a nice relaxing weekend. Making Andrew pay for his hubris.

I haven’t told Jason yet. The boy has never met his father and I don’t intend to change that. James is on my side completely, but he and I disagree about one thing. I don’t want to tell my sister. He seem to think she deserves a word of warning but I don’t think she needs any more stress in her life. She’s trying – I can tell – to keep on the righteous path. But I know from experience that changing a part of your essence is not easy. I know my sister’s bad habits are discouraging but I want to see her better. Andrew will not help her.

You agree with me, don’t you?

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 12/07/16

I think my sister is going back to her old ways. I don’t know for sure and part of me doesn’t want to condemn her right away but the rest of isn’t remotely surprised when I have to pick her up from a freezing back alley downtown so she doesn’t have to call her parole officer. It’s the first time since she’s been released but that doesn’t mean it’s the first time it’s happened. I knew my sister very well at the height of her criminal career, I know the signs when she’s headed down this path again. But we’re both different people than we were ten years ago – this city is different.

Alright, that sounds incredibly clichéd but I’m not wrong. Ten years ago, we were in an economic boom, unemployment was at an all-time high and we didn’t know it yet but we had one of the most corrupt and morally bankrupt Mayors of all time. Now temperatures are up, pricing is up, and our Mayor is a joke but at least he’s an honest one. I don’t know if this city could handle two villains prowling the streets every night.

This is what I feared when my sister said she was rejoining society. Total chaos.

To be fair, it hasn’t happened yet; and I know, I know, I should give her the benefit of the doubt. But I’ve been down this road before. I won’t walk it again. If she skips curfew again and brings me into her lies, I won’t hesitate. She’s my sister and I love her but we’re all safer with her behind bars.

Naturally, out of frustration, I took a walk after I dropped my sister off and ended up in a darker part of town. Every neighbourhood can be a bad neighbourhood with the right spin but when the city doesn’t bother to replace the streetlights when they burn out, that’s when you know you’re in trouble. They’re easy targets. Everyone on that street is looking for a victim, not a fight. They don’t expect to one from a woman walking alone. So when I do end up in the darker parts of town, I always play the part; it’s routine by now. I carry my keys in my fist, ready to strike at whoever comes too close, I have a hand in my pocket over what looks like pepper spray but it’s just perfume. And then some twenty-something white kid who thinks he’s tougher than he is comes up behind me and I start walking a little faster. So does he. I turn a corner. So does he. I turn into an alley away from prying eyes. So does he. Just as he’s about to strike, I strike first. It’s over in an instant and the statistics for gang-related deaths goes up.

This time was a little different. I followed my routine to the letter but then I started thinking about my sister and I got distracted. Suddenly I was backed into a corner with my keys in my hand and I’d lost the advantage. So I swung. And he was bleeding so I thought I’d gotten the advantage back but then I saw the damage and I just started laughing. I’d stabbed him in the eye with a key. He was screaming but there wasn’t a lot of blood. Then he was lying on the ground motionless so I grabbed the key and ran away.

Except…

The key got stuck. So I pulled. And then the eyeball came with it. Then there was a lot of blood.

The news said he died of a heart attack but they aren’t sure why his eye is missing so they’re opening an investigation.

It’s sitting in a pickle jar in my sink. I don’t know what to do with it. When I brought it home, James just started laughing and he still has no idea what to do with it. I just…there’s an eyeball in my bathroom and I have no idea what to do with it.

Should I flush it down the toilet? Sell it? Keep it as a trophy?

Any ideas, dear readers?

That’s not even the most dramatic thing that happened to me this week.

I think a figure from my past is coming back to haunt me. Someone came to my office last week, asking for me and refused to leave until my boss came down and escorted him from the building. I was still in the hospital so I got a call from Heather. She sounded frazzled and it takes a lot to frazzle that girl. There are two men who I think could do that to her and her ex-husband is still out of town arranging a new life. If that means what I think it means, I have every right to be very worried.

Pray for me.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 11/30/16

So a lot has happened in the last two weeks.

About five minutes after I posted my update last week – you know the one where I said nothing ever happens and I hate it? – I collapsed on the stairs at home and was rushed to the hospital. Apparently I had an infection from the gift that keeps on giving. They’re keeping me for a few more days so I have to make this update brief. They’re threatening to confiscate all my electronics if I don’t stop working.

I hope this wound heals soon. At this rate, I’ll be on a first name basis with all the attendants come Christmas morning.

Speaking of Christmas.

It’s an early miracle; my mother isn’t coming, my sister isn’t coming, my mother-in-law isn’t coming. For the first time in, what must be decades, it’s just going to be my immediate family. James, Jason and I will have a nice, QUIET, dinner. I cannot even imagine what that silence will feel like.

Shit, the nurse is coming.

One last thing: Lydia has to die. Every day that I’ve been in the hospital, I’ve gotten a “reply all” email from her about trivial things. Like cleaning out the fridge or finding a bug in her cubicle. She even sent an email to the entire office about my hospitalization wanting to send flowers or some bullshit.

She has to go.

As do I.

Nurse Jackie has Jell-O.

Remind me to tell you about Nurse Jackie next week. She’s insane.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 11/23/16

I have nothing to report this week.

You ever notice that when I say I have nothing to report, I end up with some revelation or long-winded update? I promise, that isn’t the case this week. Nothing has changed. Sometimes weeks move so quickly that nothing significant can happen. That’s the way life works.

Sometimes I don’t like it.

I don’t like a lot of things.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 11/16/16

I think my sister has officially stopped trying to talk to Jason. I haven’t heard from her in a few weeks and I think she’s finally starting to move on with her life. That’s really all I want for my sister: to stop clinging to the past and make a fresh start; without falling back into her old criminal ways, or trying to steal my son.

Okay, we all know that’s bullshit. I just want my sister to go back to jail – without actually having a hand in it – but please don’t make me say that out loud. I could really use a win right now.

Lydia, my nosey new coworker, has been snooping around Heather lately. Apparently, they have “so much in common” and should “definitely have drinks after work on Friday”. I will not let this woman steal Heather away from me. I’ve grown fond of the bitch and we’ve bonded over the last few months. No one can destroy that weird co-worker friendship we have. So, what if I sound insecure; that is my right as a human being. Heather and I have history; and the fact that I haven’t killed her after all these years together must be a sign that I need her in my life. Oh my god, I’m being protective of my friend. That is such a weird feeling for me to have. One more slip up and Lydia dies.

Jason came home on Thursday to tell me that he failed all but one of his midterms. I’m less upset that he failed and more worried because it seems like he didn’t even try. James and I went to all this trouble of setting him up with a psychologist who’s been working on concentration techniques to combat his natural urge to wander. We worked with his college to make sure he was given proper time and a distraction-free environment for testing. We even took him to a doctor to discuss his medication options. He didn’t use any of the tools we provided him. He didn’t set up a separate exam time in a special room, he didn’t use any of the tricks the psychologist taught him, he didn’t even study. He was working on his computer all night. I remember seeing him rewiring some part of his cheap secondary computer with his text book open, going through notes. But he didn’t translate that to the classroom. All he had to do was try. This kid is going to cost me a fortune in education, I just know it.

James is fine – at least I thought he was fine. Until he came home Saturday night after having too many drinks with the boys and confessed that he worships me. It wasn’t that he said it, it was how he said it. So desperate and sad. It broke my heart just to hear him say it. Like there was something wrong. Something he’s not telling me. Or maybe he was just drunk and blathering. That’s not the first time he’s used the word “worship”. That was the beginning of our whole relationship. I loved the convenience of a cop who admired me and he was great fun between the sheets. And then I fell in love and I thought we’d moved past that phase.

There has to be something he’s not telling me.

I asked him about it the next morning and he says he doesn’t remember. I need to stop obsessing over things like this. That’s how you end up in the psyche ward at 2am. Again.

Aren’t you glad we’re past all that paranoid bullshit with Daniel?

Yeah, me too.

Look, all I’m saying is that it’s been a very emotional week and I just need someone to lie to me; in lieu of that, I’ll lie and tell myself that I’m justified in taking two hands this week because I’ve found I really like the motion of severing body parts.

I know to be careful and not do that for every victim but it wouldn’t kill me to add a little spice to my repertoire once in a while. Try a new method for a while. Decapitation and dismemberment is one I haven’t really played with since my late twenties. Maybe I’ve still got it.

Let’s focus on that for now instead of Lydia and Heather’s budding relationship, and Jason’s expensive winding road to education, and James’ obvious secrets. Yes, let’s focus on the positive; limbless corpses.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 11/09/16

In my 20+ years of violently interacting with humanity I’ve survived with a minimal amount of scrapes and bruises. I had an injury-free childhood. The occasional swimming lesson and playground antics were hardly cause for a trip to the hospital.

I think the worst I ever had it was when I was 7 or 8. I fell backwards off the monkey bars and hit my head on a metal railing. I regained consciousness just as the ambulance arrived at the hospital and I had to stay overnight for observation but I was completely fine, except for a small bruise on my neck that lasted for a month. My mother never let me go back to that playground. We had to walk an extra ten blocks just to find another one – and the swing set sucked.

For the first few years of my career shift into murder, I made more than a few anonymous trips to the emergency room but nothing that ever left a scar. My left leg is still sore after that car accident a year and a half ago. And then there was the gash on my hand that I totally blame on Heather. That one left some definite scarring but it still healed fairly quickly. Not to mention the thumb that I absolutely dislocated – or at least severely bruised – over the summer.

Nothing compares to this.

I was released from the hospital within two weeks of being admitted and the doctors say I’m healing well, but there’s this stinging pain in my side constantly. And…I can admit to you, dear readers, that I’ve developed this reflex lately. Any time someone passes me on my side, I flinch; and I get this shiver up my spine. I freeze.

I know it’s just an instinctual reaction – my body protecting me from getting hurt again – but it’s an annoying feeling. Like I’m out of control. I can’t wait for my body to heal properly so I can move on.

In the meantime, I’m back at work, showing off my scar and accepting sympathy visits from all my coworkers. I’m killing, thought slightly less so as to not reopen my stitches, and I’ve decided to keep up the serial killer gimmick but cut it back to once or twice a month. Just, whenever I get bored.

I can feel the holidays winding up after Halloween which means snow, and stress, and crowds of people. I’d better be healed by the time things really get started. Christmas shopping is one of my favourite times to do a little snatch and grab kill. Robberies, car jackings, accidents. The crowds make it so easy.

I’ve still got a few weeks to properly heal. It better heal quickly.

I’m through with the myriad of injuries I’ve endured this past year. It’s time to move on.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 11/02/16

I am so sorry, dear readers; I can’t believe I posted whatever nonsense that was last week. Actually, I can believe that, I just can’t believe my husband would let me. You see, I spent most of Monday night until Friday afternoon in the hospital but I had my laptop with me and I remember opening it early Wednesday and then the nurse coming in...and that’s all. It wasn’t until hours later that I realized I had posted my morphine-induced ramblings. Thank you all for your concern, I’m feeling much better now.

It’s entirely my fault, I know that. I can still be frustrated with the situation. I was fending off a rather aggressive victim when he managed to stab me with my own knife. I may have been a little overzealous with his kill but I was also bleeding from a stab just below my ribs. Nothing fatal, obviously but it did cause me a lot of pain and so while I was starting to bleed out, I quickly called James from a nearby payphone and walked myself to the hospital four blocks away.

I claimed a man tried to mug me but I got away from him and that’s around the time I passed out from shock and blood loss. I woke up a little less than a day later to find James sitting at my bedside and a nurse tending to my wound. According to her I was very lucky to have survived my ordeal as well as I did. Apparently the stabbing was all flash and no damage. I lost almost 3 pints of blood but no organs were damaged and ribs are completely unharmed. Almost like it was made by someone flailing about who happened to slice across my side.

Didn’t make it hurt any less.

The police arrived shortly after to take my statement of events, to which I quickly recounted before a nurse ushered them away so I could get my rest. I remember James kissing my forehead and telling me it’s all taken care of so I can only assume that the crime scene is spotless and he cleaned up yet another one of my messes. That man is too good for me. He stayed with me every night while I was in the hospital, trusting Jason to take care of himself for a few days – even drove the kid to see me a few times. I could tell Jason was worried but didn’t want to show it. I thought it was sweet, actually. I believe that was Wednesday evening when I was at the height of my hospital-grade pain killers which probably didn’t help my boys’ with their worries.

I reread what I posted last week and I can’t make sense of most of it. I know last week is usually my Halloween/Horror-themed post so it was kind of fitting, wasn’t it? A little glimpse into the back of my psyche.

I don’t think anyone wants to visit that place again anytime soon.

But I can assure you, dear readers, that I’m recovering well. The doctor said I still have to get checked out in a few days to makes sure I have no infections or the like. I’m also at risk of ripping my stitches if I perform any rigorous activity which means James has been sleeping on his side of the bed, and I’ve abstained from murder for the last week or so.

I’ve gotten much better at controlling my urges the past few years. A week or two away from my craft won’t drive me insane the way it used to. The only problem now is the “Hand of God” or “Hand to God” killer (I can’t remember which). Should I keep it going as a side project or just let it go all together? It was only meant to be an October project and we’re officially into November. Besides, I didn’t even get to finish October with the victims that I wanted. Maybe I’ll just take it to the end of the year and then see how it goes.

Sound good?

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 10/26/16

Round and round the merry go round.. Allude WALKING BACKWARDS TOWARDS THE SUNSET. What is blue? I see wolves leaping over trees Watermelon everywhere. Wrath of the gods raining down up the enemies of watermelon. Native souls of the island will be purged to make way for my glory. Everyone is just dead. Au=ion cantaloupe elope elope elope you sit on a throne of lies!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! you’re a weasel, Can’t stop me now. Cause we’re havin a good time, haavin a good time polepot? No, you’re wrong. Why would put carrots in that? Too many people. Too many ideas floating round in my head. Like little spots floating in Jell-O. Dogs nipping at your heels bodies dropping from the ceiling always coming down down down. What are you doing here? Why are you saying that? I can’t believe you’d do that. Oh my god not the giraffe. George Washington’s nurse is here. She is so sweet. She smells like pistachios. And chocolate cherries. Mmm. Pistachios. I don’t want radishes. What are those boxes floating above my head? I could reach out and grab them. But then I’d have boxes and I don’t want that many boxes. Stick monkeys don’t make sense. But parakeets do. There’s no reason to put cyanide in the toilet bowl the dog is too fat. We can’t. Ugh! There’s nothing keeping me from being purple. What does that even doing? You are so potato. I think I need help. I need help. I’m losing a lot of blood and this cloth isn’t helping. It’s leaking and and ebbing. I can’t feel anything. I think I’m going to die. That’s the only conclusion. I’m going to die. And there’s nothing she can do without it. What will I tell Andrew? He’ll never know. She’ll never forgive me but that’s not my fault. Yeah. Oh pickles. Little green pills. Tastes like bubbles. And lime. I just want to close my eyes. I’ll sleep, I promise. I’ll be a good girl. Good night, mother.

Your Mid-Week Update for 10/19/16

My god, it’s so cold in my office.

I came in early to get some work done and I’m already freezing to death. My fingertips are blue. I hate this time of year. It’s so cold in the morning but it’s too warm in the afternoon. And the pumpkin spice – sweet Jesus it’s everywhere. Plus the heater in my office smells weird; I swear it's going to explode any day now. This is no way to live.

So I kill.

My alter ego’s body count is up to four so far and I’ve officially been dubbed a serial killer by the press. I made it really easy and gave them a pun no one could resist. For my last two victims, I took their hand and left them on church steps around the city.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you:

The Hand of God Killer.

So cheesy, I know; but I didn’t come up with it. Apparently some officer was joking around at the scene of the fourth crime and the press ran with it.

…

If I find out that James had a hand in naming me…

Any hand-related wordplay is just lost on me now. My lovely husband and I have been using every phrase in the book. I can’t believe there’s another week and a half of this. Maybe I’ll keep it going every once in a while to keep the story fresh but I’m definitely over the whole pun thing. It’s getting a bit heavy-handed.

Okay, okay, I’ll stop. I admit this is getting out of hand.

Oh come on, you’ve got to hand it to me, these ones practically write themselves.

I’m done, I promise.

I’m just so bored and apparently I have no concentration this morning. I don’t want to be at work today and I’m so fucking cold. What else is there to say? Maybe I’ll snap someone’s neck during my lunch break; the adrenaline rush always perks me right up. It’ll be so easy to find some unsuspecting victim on the street that time of day. I have to admit, it is so handy working near the downtown area.

Alright I’m done.

Back to work, I suppose.

Is it lunch time yet?

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 10/12/16

I had a dream about babies last night. Just holding and coddling a crying baby for what felt like hours. I woke up feeling empty and confused. I found myself thinking about children as I got ready for work; my resolve not to have any of my own.

I stand by it.

There are no newborns in my future. Neither James nor I have the time for something that requires so much attention. And yet…

It’s all because of Lydia.

She’s a new hire who is incredibly enthusiastic to the point that I want to put a pencil through my eye. I don’t even want to hurt her I just want her to leave me alone. She’s so fucking nosy but she’s getting her work done and picking it up quickly. I admire work ethic more than a mild annoyance so I’ll put up with her for the time being. But yesterday she found me during my lunch hour and just sat down and started talking. She asked me questions about my life, and my family. I kept my answers brief and as non-descript as possible but then she asked me why my husband and I never had children of our own.

I’d known this woman for a day and a half. Seriously? You don’t just ask people those kinds of questions – especially if you’re just co-workers. And yet…

I dreamt about babies.

I looked up dream meanings because there’s no way in hell my subconscious wants me to give birth. Apparently a crying baby means I am neglecting some part of my life. I don’t know what my mind thinks I’m lacking but it’s going to be bothering me all day. All because of Lydia.

…

I shouldn’t put so much stock in dream analysis. It’s all new-aged bullshit, completely open to interpretation. And yet…

What could I possibly be lacking? It can’t be my job; I’ve been very successful and may even pitch for a raise once year-end is done. Heather and I have been getting a long fairly well and despite Lydia’s social misconducts, she’s also tolerable. Life at home has been quite stagnant; my sister calls daily wanting to talk to Jason and every day he refuses. James and I have hit a steady rhythm of work and play with the occasional twist to keep things interesting. It’s perfect. Playing a serial killer has been absolutely hilarious; I took a whole hand on Friday instead of just a finger – the news says “the local serial killer is escalating”. I haven’t been named yet. I’d kind of like a name. We’ll see what the public come up with. I think it’s in poor taste to choose your own serial killer name.

What would you name me?

I’m completely open to suggestions. Something with appendages and limbs. Something pun-y. I leave it in your capable hands while I contemplate whatever’s missing in my life.

Thanks Lydia.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 10/05/16

I thought it would be casual fun to play true “horror-genre” serial killer. It’s incredibly challenging.

I went from three or four random killings a week to one staged murder in a very specific location. Because I have no patience, I caught a quickie on the way home to satisfy my baser urges. Let me tell you: having a psychopathy and specific methodology to my work is hard. I don’t understand how they do it. Acting on the urge to kill for humiliation or revenge or misplaced anger – that I understand – but the need to leave a neon sign saying “I killed her and this is why” has always baffled me.

I really don’t have the desire to psychoanalyse other criminals. Your work is your own, I’m sure you have a perfectly good explanation; I admire your work, really. It just makes no sense to me.

However, in the spirit of the holiday, I’m doing my best to keep an open mind. I’ve chosen black females in their early twenties in the downtown area who are walking alone at night.

If you fit the profile: good luck.

I use the handle of my knife to stun them and then stab once in the femoral artery (and then four more stabs for a staged-overkill). Then I cut off her left ring finger with a cigar cutter and take it home in a plastic bag.

So far the only good thing that’s come out of this is that James and I have been passing the bag back and forth, giving each other “the finger”. Everything else has been normal or more frustrating. Knowing that when I go out, I’ll have no choice but to kill a specific group in a specific way is so stifling. Unpredictability is one of my favourite things about killing – besides, you know…the killing part – I think even a month of this will be torturous.

But I am determined to foll0ow through. I was right: I need the distraction.

Sandra has called me every other hour since she was started her parole on Sunday because she wants to know about her children. She wasn’t able to attend Sandra’s funeral so she wants to visit her grave site. And Jason has refused to give her his cell number. She’s been cut off from her family and it’s now fallen on me to keep her connected. I hate this feeling. Like she’s relying on me – like she’s trusting me.

Why the fuck would she think she can trust me?

…

And I just fielded another call from my sister. If Jason wants to talk to her, he’ll do it himself. I’ve told her that a dozen times but it doesn’t seem to be registering.

I don’t know if I’ll answer her next call.

Why should I?

I’m not her keeper, I’m her sister. And if she thinks she’ll make it in this world, she needs to understand that just because we are family does not mean I have to keep bailing her out.

I won’t do it.

God, she’s been out for three days and I’m already done with her bullshit. How am I going to handle her every single day?

Pray for me.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

300 Things I Hope Blitz

Central Avenue Publishing is proud to present 300 Things I Hope, the latest book by the bestselling poet behind the worldwide sensation, I Wrote This For You by Iain S. Thomas

Initially released as a free download to thank Thomas’ thousands of fans, readers clamoured for it to become a “real” book. The 300 hopes include everything from hoping you always have a pen, to hoping you’re never lonely, and everything in between. The prose is coupled with line drawings by acclaimed illustrator and fellow South African, Carla Kreuser, resulting in a chapbook designed to be read over and over.

From Central Avenue Publishing:

Today’s poetry is different than in previous eras. It’s often shorter, highly emotive and regularly coupled with photography or illustrations. In our connected, digital world, it’s shared instantly, in 140 characters or on blogs. It’s also often on bestseller lists, and today’s poets are young, well-travelled and multicultural. It resonates with those who search for others with like experiences. Those who are in need of sympathy, empathy or just reassurance that someone else feels the same as they do. Today’s poetry is relevant and engages young people like longer literary works cannot.

From Iain Thomas:

“I feel a whole bunch of different things all the time and I go through all these different experiences, as we all do. My writing is a way of capturing that and when I put it out into the world, I’m asking: ‘I have felt this. Have you felt this?’ And if I’m lucky, I can say, ‘You’ve felt this? And I’ve felt this? OK, we’re no longer alone.’”

300 Things I Hope will be available everywhere on October 1, 2016.

Details about giveaways, online events and author appearances will be available at the author’s website at iainsthomas.com.

Thomas is the poet behind I Wrote This For You, a poetry and photography blog that became a series of books in 2011. Since its inception, the poetry has been read and quoted daily by loyal fans, actors, musicians and politicians. His work is beloved by readers of all ages the world over. Carla Kreuser is an acclaimed illustrator whose work has won critical awards and honours. Both Thomas and Kreuser live in Cape Town, South Africa.






Central Avenue Publishing is an independent press based in Delta, Canada, featuring award-winning writers of original fiction, poetry, and creative non fiction. Central Avenue’s books are distributed globally by Independent Publishers Group based in Chicago.

Your Mid-Week Update for 09/28/16

I spent all day yesterday with my sister. I am going to kill someone.

Again.

She told me on Saturday that she had a parole hearing on Tuesday and “could I come and vouch for her?” For reasons I still don’t understand, I said yes. So I used one of my precious personal days to drive up to the dank, poorly-lit prison at 9am. They saw her at 2pm. And then I had to sit for three hours and listen to inmates, guards, and staff – everyone who’s been with her for the last seven years – talk about how kind she is, and how helpful she is, and how she’s ready to come back into the community.

She has them all fooled; thinking she is anything but a menace to society. They don’t know my sister the way I do. They don’t know the things she’s done. She got off easy with her sentencing. 15 years is not enough. Has everyone forgotten what happened over Christmas? The problem is: I still love her.

When the board asked her family to step forward I realized I was the only one there. As much as I fear my sister, my mother hates her. I was the only one there who could speak against my sister’s release and I froze. Standing in front of those men and women just looking for an excuse to lock her away, I lied. I told them my sister made a mistake. “A momentary lapse in judgement that is now costing her precious years of her life.” I almost threw up in my mouth. The things I said…

The board agreed to grant her day-parole. She gets to spend 10 hours a day out in society “making a difference.” I ran over a woman and stabbed a witness with a pen on the way home that night. I can’t believe I lied for her.

Again.

Even from prison my baby sister still has control over me. I will not let her do that to me again. Now that she’s out, I’m going to be working double duty with all of my obligations and keeping an eye on her. No matter how much supervision the parole board provide, it will never be enough. She will find a way; she will go back to her old habits.

Remember: addiction runs in the family. We’ve all given in to it but she’s worse than I am in so many ways.  I have just been sitting at my desk all morning, thinking about what’s going to happen when my sister is released next week.

I was so looking forward to October because it’s Halloween all month long around here: horror movies, crazy parties, the smell of fresh victims in the autumn air. I love it. It puts me in a sort of…mood. I want to dress up and go on a killing spree.

Or better yet, play a proper serial killer – like the kind in books and movies. I’ve talked about the psychology of serial murder all the time. Not every killer takes a trophy or maintains a pattern. Those are the ones who get caught. But I will admit that the more dramatic ones always make for an interesting story.

That’s what I’ll do. I need to get my mind off the new terror in my life. Maybe I’ll play Zodiac for a while; try my hand at being a more theatrical killer and add some more horror to the holiday season.

I should talk to James first. Changing MOs like this will affect the whole family so I need to give him a heads up first. But I need something to distract me from the hellish day I had yesterday. This could be it.

Or maybe I’ll get a dog.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 09/21/16

Have you ever had a moment of sudden clarity? You spend your life doing something so menial and then suddenly you feel more aware of what you’re doing and why.

There is a washroom at work that has two stalls. I’ve been with this company for…too long, and it occurred to me yesterday that I’ve only ever used one stall. I have no idea what the other stall looks like. For all I know, it’s covered in shit and graffiti; or maybe it’s fitted with the latest robotic toilets that play music and wipe your ass for you. I may never know.

It’s such a trivial thing to think about but I’m choosing to take it as a sign of a larger problem. A problem that seems to be almost annual in my life.

I’m in a rut.

Not a murderous rut this time, I’m feeling quite good about that aspect of my life. I did some beautiful tapestry work with a blank canvas and an old-fashioned axe. I may sell it. See if it’s worth anything. Anonymously of course. Although the money would be nice. Besides, who would care how the art was created? Don’t those new-age types only care about how the art makes them feel?

Anyways, I’m not talking about that kind of rut this time. I’m in a career rut.

I’ve been working in the same field for 15 years and I’ve been with the same company for most of that time. I enjoy the luxury of my position and honestly there’s no point in changing it now; I’m just feeling unsatisfied.

Perhaps a little dissatisfaction is good. If I got my way every time I’d never have an excuse to kill.

And what kind of world would that be?

Just something to think about this week.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 09/14/16

Did I ever tell you about the time Sandra was kidnapped?

I’ve probably blocked it out.

It was the first year she came to live with me so I was understandably stressed and overwhelmed. I remember dropping her off with no issue and then I went to pick her up at 3pm and the teacher said “oh, someone already picked her up. I think it was your sister.”

I was livid. How could her school be so negligent that they let a child go off with anyone they think might be a relative? That teacher has no idea how close she came to seeing her organs on the outside that day. She died a few years later for unrelated reasons but that day, I could not see straight let alone kill. I couldn’t focus on anything else. I kept calling her phone but it went straight to voicemail and I filled up her inbox with texts but nothing came of it. I almost had James put out an amber alert and I was dialing my sister in prison when I got a call from the parent of Sandra’s friend Clara.

Apparently the girls were having a sleepover and Sandra forgot to tell me. Then her phone died and she still didn’t think to call me. I couldn’t sleep for the rest of the night.  I let her have her sleepover and then when she got home the next day, I sat her down in the kitchen. I think that was the first time I’d ever yelled at her. It wouldn’t be the last time but that was a very pivotal moment for me and Sandra.

I will never forget those few hours when I thought someone was going to hurt my child. It was one of the worst days.

Oh how times have changed.

I’m telling you this story because I want to remind you to be careful. School is back in session and you can’t always be there for them. I have done a lot of horrible things in my life – few of which I regret – but I have never harmed a child. There are people out there who will.

Remember that there are people worse than me in the world. Keep your children safe this school year.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 09/07/16

September 7th

The morning was cold. Too cold. I worry the city has forgotten what autumn means. I wrapped myself tighter in my sweater and tried to forget the early morning wind. I was sitting at my desk, drinking a vodka soda at 6am, contemplating the dregs of the universe when he walked in. All lean muscles and big hands. He was suave, raw power walking on two legs. But he had a troubled look in his eyes; like he’d seen his fair share of struggles on the wrong side of town. Any man knocking on my door at this hour wasn’t selling no good book; he was looking to unburden himself. And my door was always open for a man in need.

I invited him in but he just stood in the doorway with that dumb look and those sad eyes. He said he had a job for me; he’d take me to it right now. I’ve never been one to pass up a paycheque but god-forbid I walk off with some stranger without setting ground rules first.

What kind of girl do you take me for?

Who was I kidding? The man was sex on legs, I’d go anywhere with him. I set my price, I grabbed my weapon of choice, and we walked out the door together. I don’t think I ever asked his name.

He led me to a coffee house on the other side of town that smelt of caramel and old newspapers. This was the autumn smell I’d been missing. Too bad this place was where I’d meet my match. A job that I may never finish with a man who looked like my latest conquest.

He paid for my Americano and we sat in the corner facing the window. It started to rain. He told me a sob story about a girl who broke his heart and ran off with his best friend. I told him I didn’t care but I really did. What woman would walk away from an ass that fine?

So I was attracted to him. Didn’t mean I can’t do my job.

His foolish former lover worked across the street and I caught I glimpse of her through the fogging window; blonde, younger than him, and too thin to carry her own weight. A damsel in distress if I ever saw one, and I saw her; over and over again.

I saw her through the window as she busied herself with her last day on earth.

I saw her down the street as she got in a beat up old taxi and headed “anywhere but here”.

I saw her from the doorway of her apartment as I made my way inside.

I saw her eyes grow dark as the last light of life left those pretty blue orbs.

I saw her photo fall to the floor as I offered my client proof of kill.

He seemed…happy with my work.

Although my contract was up, I had to ask if he required my services any further – like any good business woman would. He responded by grabbing my waist and kissing me long and hard. He took me right there on my desk and I gave in to the thrill.

Now I may never be rid of that man.

Maybe I like it that way.

…

That was my morning.

James woke me up at 5am this morning for a little fantasy game where we killed the waitress across town getting off her night shift. I’m already at work, I’m exhausted, but so satisfied. That man’s mind just thrills me. Especially when I get to play a 1940s femme fatale in a knock out dress that he picked out for me.

He knows me so well, and he knows just what buttons to press every time.

It’s the one case I’ll never be able to shake.

That man.

Phew.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 08/31/16

Nothing new to report this week. Jason doesn’t start technical college until next week; he seems more content than he was earlier this summer. He’s growing up all on his own. I’m proud.

But as he grows up, I find myself facing my childhood. On Friday, I went out for drinks with Heather to maintain our obligatory friendship. I was having a nice time, we drank, I indulged in my desire to gossip about our coworkers. I know it’s wrong spread that kind of negativity but sometimes you need to vent and apparently “normal people” vent by gossiping and sending passive aggressive emails. Overall, people are assholes but I’ve been learning their ways. The more time I spend with Heather, the more I see her side of office life. She’s been my secretary for 6 years and I have no idea what she does all day. That’s not meant to be a slight on her character. Like I’ve said, she’s very good at her job. I’m always ready and on time for meetings, things are always copied or filed or faxed when I ask and she rarely takes a day off. I probably couldn’t do my job without her. But once I close my office door, I have no idea what she does. I still don’t, it’s just something I’ve been thinking about.

Anyways, we were out of drinks on Friday, having a great time, sharing a few laughs, when who should walk by but Rebecca fucking Wood. We went to high school together, shared a lot of classes but nothing that extended far beyond the building. We shared a quick hello and exchanged introductions, and then I made the mistake of asking: “so what are you up to?”

She’s incredibly successful; pursued her passion right out of university, received promotion after promotion at an alarming rate, now makes…well not million but she’s very well off. I hated it. Call me petty all you want, but I left our encounter feeling bitter.

I am successful in my own life. I have a steady career, a good income, a child at home, a husband who loves me; I am pursuing my passion even if I`m not getting paid for it. I have every reason to be happy with my life. I hate to admit it but I was jealous. I was bitter and jealous.

I clearly still am.

Seeing someone else who’s going after the same goal, but is just better at it, makes me incredibly frustrated. It feels like I’m failing. And I don’t like to fail, or lose.

I should take this as an opportunity for self-improvement but instead, I killed Rebecca yesterday. Mostly out of spite.

It felt great. My confidence is restored. Now, I don’t recommend killing everyone who makes you feel inadequate – that would take way too much time – venting is good; getting your emotions out whether through gossip or physical violence, is healthier than keeping it in.

How’s that for a life lesson?

You’re welcome, dear readers.

As always,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 08/24/16

My god; how can you sleep in a hostel and be so utterly pretentious?

As the summer draws to a close and the weather moves from scorching to freezing, the downtown area is filled up with hikers and tourists on their last trip before they head home. In a burst of insanity, it seems, I checked into a local hostel so see what fresh victims could be found.

To say the least, my weekend was crowded and disgustingly sweaty.

First of all, sleeping six to a room is uncomfortable and wearisome. Stuck in a room full of girls who are either shy and uncomfortable or won’t fucking shut up is a special level of hell I never thought I’d live in. Their ages ranged between barely legal and mid-thirties so the diversity was nice I suppose. Many different lives converging and all that; but I would not give up my privacy for all the victims in the world. And then, we sat around the breakfast table and swapped stories about our summer adventures.

The ego on some of these people.

“I hiked all the way up this mountain and then camped with a family of bears before hitchhiking my way through this area and that area, and oh have ever been to this site? Don’t, it’s rubbish.”

Their conversations alone would have made anyone turn to murder. As it was, I lasted Friday and Saturday night before I took the opportunity to strike out. I offered to show one of the loner girls around the town before she headed home. She was early-twenties, quiet, didn’t known anyone in town.

Too, too easy.

I sometimes worry that I’m setting the women’s movement back by discouraging young women to travel alone. I’d like to think I’d just as easily kill a young male traveller if he crossed my path. We’ll just have to test that theory.

Not at that hostel, though. Never again. I cannot stand the chatter and the crowds. Not in such a closed environment where everyone can notice everything.

I just can’t.

Not for a while anyway, I need some peace and quiet before I head back into the fray. Home is a nice place for that. It’s been quiet for a while. A nice way to close out the summer.

My god, where has the time gone? Seems like yesterday I was in Miami, seducing the pool boy and soaking in the sun.

Looking back on the past few updates, so much has happened and yet so little. Sometimes I seem to just…ramble about nothing.

I started this blog to document my life and my murders and while I still release all that energy on the page and on the streets, I find more comfort in releasing my fears and hopes in my personal life. Do you care about those things, dear readers? Am I writing this for my own amusement?

I wouldn’t care if I was, I could use some amusement but I’d like to know: is it all worth it?

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 08/17/16

Remember how I wanted to ask Jason to teach me some of what he was working on to get better acquainted with his interests? I thought it was a good idea. My son did not. His reaction, when I asked him on Saturday, was to laugh at me then shake his head and say “oh come on, mom.”

He called me mom; that was nice. His flippant rejection was a bit harsh but I understand. I’m old. What could I understand? That’s his thinking, not mine. I accept the stereotype that most children think their parents know nothing about technology. I’d like to think I’m better than the average dumb parent but if I’m being perfectly honest my sister is way better at it than I am.

Speaking of my sister…

She’s still under the impression that she’ll be out in a month. I will make sure that my sister stays exactly where she belongs. I owe it to this old town: only one woman prowling the streets at a time. Two is just e\sdrsfgbcv

Edit: My chair just broke.

James is now awake and laughing at me.

It’s going to be a long week.

Although I did have a little fun yesterday. As I was driving home I passed a man who was wearing a t-shirt that read “This body knows no pain.” I took it as a challenge; I won.

It was a standard kidnapping, I hit him lightly and convinced him to let me drive him to the hospital. We ended up at the lake just outside of the city with nothing but a tarp and the tools to change a spare tire. Did you know you can fit a jack between nearly every major moving joint and just *pop* dislocate them? The hips were especially fun. I had his knees tied tight together and then put the jack right near his pelvic bone and just kept pushing. When his hips popped out, they made a little heart shape – until I changed the direction of his knees.

The human body can be twisted into amazing positions if you know how to get creative. When I dumped him in the lake he was a sort of “G” shape. Rigor mortis was just starting to set in (I may have kept playing with him after he died, he was so pliable by that point) so his hands stand twisted above his head and his dangling, broke toes just completed the circle. You know you play with silly putty or play-doh and you create little sculptures that you can twist and pull and squish to your heart’s content? He was like that.

I’m gonna miss that guy.

Anyway, that’s really the only fun I’ve had lately. Not that things have been horrible, but that was the stand out moment.

That. And breaking my chair. That wasn’t fun.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe 

Your Mid-Week Update for 08/10/16

For those of you wondering about the currently open cold case involving yours truly, I’m more frustrated than worried. James’ precinct isn’t working the case so he hasn’t been able to find out much. For one: we still don’t know what new evidence has surfaced in the past two years.

I’ve now learnt the boy’s name and what he did for a living. Neither are of any importance which only makes me more curious about why this is happening now. I’d say it’s driving me crazy but I know what it feels like to go crazy and this is just annoying.

When the police know more than I do, lives are at stake.

I remember back when Sandra became suspicious of me. She called the police and had me questioned for such a trivial case – like this one. God, I wanted to kill her.

Maybe someone’s coming after me.

Maybe I’m paranoid.

Moving on.

…

Oh I can’t move on.

I find myself facing my mortality lately; reflecting on the way my life has gone – especially in the last few years. I turn 39 on Friday. In a year I’ll be 40. 40; that was a number I feared when I was a kid. 40 was old. It meant being settled down in my life, no more ambition or desire for change. No more adventure. And now I’m here.

I thought I would feel differently. Like something would click in my head and suddenly I would have all the wisdom that comes with being 40. I have the mentality of a 20 year old sometimes: a head full of fantasies and ideas about what the world around me should be like. Instead of accepting the world around me, I live in my head. I get so angry when the world doesn't look the way I imagined it as a teenager that I wonder if that's why I started killing.

I don't fear my desire to kill, or shy away from it - clearly - but I rarely question why I started. It was so long ago, I can barely remember. 40 seemed like such a lifetime away back then. In any case, I’m still 38 and have plenty of time to mope about the trials and tribulations of my life.

What ever happened to the girl who killed her high school crush behind the bleachers and was content with that life?

Oh god, what has gotten into me?

You know, I was so proud of myself: last Sunday marked a year since Sandra’s death and I held it together very well. However, all week I’ve found myself in a…melancholy sort of mood.

I don’t like it. I am in the prime of my life. The height of both my careers, a loving family at home; what more could a woman want?

Answers about this fucking case?

What do they have?

Ugh.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 08/03/16

I can’t believe that god damn fucking prick is doing this to me. That cock sucking son of a bitch is haunting me from my grave and thinks he can get away with it.

Whoever he is, he’s a dead man.

Literally.

Ldghfgtsdeavfkhuyustbsuykrvgbdghslmcalgnuyv!!

The police are reopening a murder from April 2014 because of “new evidence”. Some stupid asshole on a bus was stabbed with a pair of nail scissors and then the security footage mysteriously went missing. Clear cut case. No one is sure what this new evidence entails but it can only smell trouble for me.

That was so long ago. Another lifetime, another person. Before Daniel, before Sandra, before all of it. Things were so simple back then. My biggest worry was taking the bus after a minor car accident not ghosts from murders past.

And before you ask, yes, it has occurred to me that this is a common police method for smoking out a jittery killer and that would make sense if this news were coming out a few months after the murder but 27 months later? No way it’s a ploy. Not for some random kid. They have something and I need to find out what.

…

I apologize for my outburst earlier. The news broke only ten minutes ago, I’m still a little in shock. I’ll be fine in a few minutes, I just had to get this down now.

I will not be arrested for this or any other petty murder. I have been doing this for too long for my arrest to be meaningless. My challenge to the police is the same as its always been: catch me if you can and make it count. 20-something years of killing will not end because some cold case worker decided to be proactive.

I need to know what the police have.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 07/27/16

Lawnmowers are just…so great when you’re in a messy mood.

Like I was saying last week, it`s like a wood chipper but more hands on which is great if that’s what you’re looking for. Friday, I was looking for loud and messy and fun – and I’m not just talking about my husband.

Oh my god, I apologize. That was a really bad joke even for me.

Moving on: we’re into the last week of this creative project. Overall, I think it’s been very successful. I will definitely be looking into more household poisons; hydrogen peroxide really caught my eye. Poisons are tricky, though. They never work the same way twice which sucks when you’re in a pinch but if you can take your time, poisons are just beautiful.

And speaking of taking your time…

My last kill in the garage. I think I might have done this one before but no specific event comes to mind so I’m using it. Air embolism. I guarantee if I’ve done it before, I’ve never used a bicycle pump carefully placed in a victim’s arm. I found him passed out on the street, very clearly enjoying the leftovers of a wild party. It’s a pity he didn’t have better friends who could take care of him. One shot and his heart gave out within a few minutes. Quick and quiet; there’s no shame in that.

This week’s endeavours were put to use in the living room.

Another simple kill that gets the job done: A photo frame I never got around to using. Not much to tell there. Blunt force trauma to the back of the neck, hitting the spine with the sharp edge of a wooden frame. Collapsed, most likely paralysed, and beaten to finish the job.

My kill last night was at least a little more creative. I pulled the coil out of an old couch cushion and wrapped it around my victim’s neck. With my husband’s help, we pulled a wire loose –after cutting the breaker – and created a little spark for our victim. A little tricky and risky but it ultimately wielded the right results.

One area I’ve never really worked with is technology and electricity and that area. I’ve mostly been afraid to because of how volatile the material is. As unpredictable as poison is, there’s no telling how wires and circuitry will react, especially since I don’t know what I’m doing.

I wonder if Jason deals with hardware or just software. Maybe I could ask him to teach me some things. It couldn’t hurt to get some more family bonding in before he starts school again. One more month.

But on that note, I’ve noticed Jason doesn’t seem as excited about started school as he used to be. Every time I bring it up – which isn’t often, I’m trying not to pester my son about his future even though it’s killing me to not know – he shuts down of focuses all his attention on his computers. I think he loves all that computer/technology stuff but being in a classroom setting is stifling his interest. I remember reading an article about children with ADD having trouble with traditional learning practices. I think – or rather I’m trying to think – as long as he can make a living and he’s happy, I will be satisfied. It’s hard to move my mind away from the idea that the only next step after high school is post-secondary education. There are so many more options for my child and I hope I’m open minded enough to support him no matter what.

I haven’t talked to James about my suspicions but I’m sure he’ll agree. As clueless as I am about raising a teenager, he’s even worse. He’s an only child from a middle class family who grew up with a lot of classmates and acquaintances but not a lot of child-age social interaction. He’s not the best help on these things. I’ll talk to him tonight and see what he says but I bet his answer will be: “Whatever you want to do, dear, I’m behind you.”

Isn’t he such a suck?

So that’s my agenda for the week. Nothing too special but hopefully this last week of forced creativity will bring a satisfying end.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 07/20/16

I’m so disappointed in my ability to embarrass my son. Just because he’s 18 does not mean I can’t still scare the living shit out of him around his friends. Or so I thought.

I was genuinely hungry after work yesterday so I decided to stop by his work and pick up a snack. Because I was in a silly mood, I decided to ham it up and play the doting mother. “Oh sweetie, are you getting enough to eat? Are they treating you well? Oh, you look so handsome in your uniform.”

The little shit played along.

He totally embraced the mommy’s boy routine and it was all I could do not to burst out laughing. “Mom, I’m so glad you stopped by, I love seeing you.” He learned from the master of manipulation, and honestly I’m kind of proud. The best part: the young woman behind me ate it up. As soon as I stepped away, she began fawning over him like he was a puppy.

No shame. That is when I started laughing.

The little shit got me, and he got that girl’s number. I asked what happened to Sarah but apparently they’re “taking time apart”. Kids these days. Back in my day

Oh my god I can’t believe I just typed that phrase. I really am getting old. That phrase should never be uttered unironically. Promise me, dear readers.

On to happier topics. You’ve never known true joy until you’ve killed someone with a plunger. It makes this delightful popping noise and combined with screams of pain I was in stitches. I may have kept going after they died just to giggle. It’s a truly hilarious sound. That was my Saturday.

Sunday, I started with a new murder room: The Garage.

Like the kitchen, there are a lot of obvious weapons in there so the idea this week is to get creative.

But I’m definitely using a lawn mower tonight. I haven’t used it in years and it’s just so messy. Remember the wood chipper from a few years ago? It’s like that but more hands on. However, Monday was spent doing a little group project with my husband.

Some men bring flowers home for their wives, my husband brings victims. I think the most romantic thing a man can do is know his wife, not just buy generic gifts. It’s the little things that just say “I’m thinking of you, here’s something I know you’ll enjoy.”

So Monday evening was spent almost entirely in the garage with my husband and a random stranger he kidnapped on his way home. Blond male, early twenties, eager for work. Fish in a barrel. First we left him in the garage with the engine running for him to die of carbon monoxide poisoning. Then we cut up an old mattress and put him in. I’ve been nagging James to get rid of that thing for years and I wonder if he suggested stuffing the body in the mattress so he wouldn’t have to do it himself. Either way, we stitched the mattress up with our victim inside then we drove out of the city to some abandoned field and lit the sucker on fire.

A word of advice if you’re going to light a mattress on fire: bring a lot of kindling. It doesn’t burn as easily as you’d think. The material doesn’t catch well so you need to get it really hot and really spread out in a short period of time or you’ll lose it. And then it just becomes work. When it stops being fun and only requires work, then I just might stop.

Don’t fret, dear readers, I don’t plan on stopping any time soon. This is still an enjoyable pastime for me and my husband. Murder really does bring us together.

That’s my other word of advice: Find something that you and your husband can do together – outside of the bedroom – some activity that you both really enjoy and can engage in. That may seem obvious but I’ve seen couples who get married because they love each other, not because they have anything in common and that makes no sense to me. That’s the groundbreaking notion I’ve learned after 8 years of marriage.

Have something in common with your husband.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe

Your Mid-Week Update for 07/13/16

Well, my upstairs bathroom flooded so  I’m venting my frustrations the usual way, with the added bonus of only using items found in the washroom. Which is good because I need to clean out the whole room.

…

You know, when I said I wanted a little more excitement, I didn’t mean being woken up by a bursting pipe at 3am on a Friday and then spending 7 hours with a man who defines the dirty plumber stereotype. If he wasn’t the cheapest and fastest man I could find at a moment’s notice, I would have slit his throat. At least I wouldn’t have to stare at his asshole while he sat under my sink and crawled around my carpet, alternating between leering at me and telling me he’s “close to finding the problem.”

The problem is you’re a fucking idiot and I could’ve had this fixed in a few hours if I was willing to pay a little extra but instead, I had no running water all weekend and you’re still an idiot.

But in any case, I started killing with bathroom items on Sunday and I’ve only had two opportunities to stretch my legs but they’ve been fun.

My new favourite, which I’ll definitely be coming back to, is a little something called Hydrogen Peroxide. Common household item, I keep it in my medicine cabinet. Drinking the stuff can be lethal – and trust me, it’s been a handy helper over the years – but I tried to administer my poison of choice in a different way. So what if it’s technically cheating my own rule; I was too frustrated to bother with.

Did you know that administering hydrogen peroxide straight into the blood stream creates clots that reach the brain, causing a stroke? If you inject it into their eyeball they’ll scream and run into a wall so hard they cause a concussion on top of the trauma and die from a combination of wounds. Of course, I had to dump a whole bottle into my victim but it created the desired effect and it actually helped me calm down after that god damn, fucking…

Focusing on such a precise activity, like putting a needle into a vein really calmed me down.

Murder is such a precise art. Even when you’re being frantic and messy, you still have to hit bone or skin in a specific way in order to get the desired result. You can explore new ways of getting there (like what I’m doing now) but it’s just another way of getting to the end. As long as brain function stops. The rest is my own personal playground.

My second kill on Monday was a little less convoluted. Well…

How convoluted is ‘death by toilet seat’?

The result of my very frustrating weekend was the need for a new toilet. I ended up with the old one in my trunk and my husband in the passenger seat on our way to the dump. All it took was one little detour and I got to cross something off my list that I never knew was there. “Bludgeoned to death by an old toilet seat”: such a beautiful sentence; and then everything went to the city dump. It was all very quick. But I got to spend a few hours alone with my husband on a murder trip. That was nice. Kind of like the old days. Like our old date nights. A little less handsy but nice.

I think that’s the real indication that we’re getting old. We still want each other but we don’t tease as much. It’s not as reckless and fun. Jason has not been traumatized by us in months. That’s just irresponsible.

You know what? I’m going to go surprise my husband on his lunch break. I refuse to grow old that way. I want to always desire my husband sexually in inappropriate places. If I don’t have that, what else is there but death and destruction?

Alright, I’ll leave you with the image of me taking my husband in the closet of a police station.

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe