Friday, Dec. 30, 2005 - 8:52 a.m.

He disappeared yesterday, and that was okay with me. The less I see of him, the better. The more I can enjoy myself here. Unfortunately he came back at dinnertime, staggering, and then left again. Was woken up in the middle of the night by his stumbling up the stairs. [the question on everyone's minds: where did he get the money this time?]

Mom was worried about him. She hears horror stories about the pitiful fates of other drunks: this one laid her head on the train tracks. That one was sleeping in the woods and was beaten to death by teenagers. She doesn't want that to happen to her son. Neither do I, but a somewhat gentler death would be fine, as long as it comes soon.

And god help me, I do understand the teenage murderers. Nothing is more disgusting than a drunk. Nothing is more despicable than a grown man unable to do anything other than mewl feebly when you kick him. It makes you want to kick him more.

I didn't want to come back to this darkness. But here I am, and I have to pretend I don't feel it.

He asked me if I thought I could go to the bookstore today. I said, sure, we could. Was he looking for something in particular. He averts his eyes and snorts, pauses. No, he says, sounding like the president presenting a new policy decision. I'd just like to get out of the HOUSE. And I know that suddenly I am among those who do him wrong at every turn, all those people who just don't treat him right, poor put-upon Ray.

He drinks motuhwash. He shits his pants. He's moved on from stealing my (his!) mom's credit cards, because she has cancelled them all, to going online and getting credit cards in her name. (Yes, she has asked the companies to press fraud charges).

I do not want to be seen in public with him. I do not want to go to the damn bookstore with him. I wish he would disappear for the remainder of my stay, whether or not it makes mom worry. I wish this zombie would either bring my brother back or die, already.

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