...way out on the corner of fucked up and evil...

Visited William yesterday. It was... I don't have the words. The prison staff at the visitor centre are all very nice, very kind, clearly used to seeing shellshocked people slapping on huge smiles for their incarcerated loved ones and shuffling through series of locking metal doors. The waiting room was rammed, the visiting hall was rammed, the roar of 24 different conversations was deafening. Will seemed... better? Sober but kinda forcibly manic, which is probably because he was also painting a smile on his soul. We laughed and joked and hugged and then Mike and I went home and crawled into bed and he held me while I cried. At least we had that.

I sent him my first letter on Friday. Apparently there's a new drug that you can print directly onto paper from a home printer (i may be misunderstanding that) so when you send letters they get photocopied and the prisoner gets the copy, not the original. I'm glad I didn't buy a bunch of postcards/greeting cards this time around. I wonder if they get copies of the envelopes... I deliberately picked some cool looking stamps but I guess they could also be drugstamps.

There's a new service now where you can email prisoners and it gets printed out their end and handed out at mailcall. I'm gonna try that.

That was horrible.

No application for bail.

A straight up guilty plea and straight to sentencing on June 3rd.

The judge wanted a social enquiry report.

Because of his previous conviction we can't submit any supporting statements that speak to his good character because legally speaking he doesn't *have* good character and it can lead to the judge throwing the whole statement out.

We had Deputy High Bailiff Gough doing the court diary and I thought that was okay, but he's gonna be tried by Deemster Montgomery who is a fucking piece of shit. This is the judge who gave a seventeen year old with an amount cannabis that was too small to weigh a custodial sentence and he gave William six years for cannabis plants, but when it came to sentence a guy with so many child.porn images on his computer that we had to borrow police from the mainland to help process it all as the IoM police didn't have the manpower he only have him eight years, like cannabis is 3/4th as bad as a department-overwhelming amount of child.porn, so fuck that guy FOREVER

I had the morning off and thought I would be okay to come home, have a cry and go back to work in the afternoon but my brain is in fucking pieces so I called in.

His advocate said with the weight they found he's looking at 14 years as a starting point, with a third doctor the initial guilty plea, but that's the lowest end of the sentence and she thinks it'll be higher.

He's already gone under treatment at the methadone clinic but it's so early in his treatment i guess the doses are quite high? Because he looked like he was high. He was bolshy and full of.bluster at the judge and I wanted to say, william,stop it, it won't help, but also i don't know what would help, if anything.

It's all gone so wrong. I cant wrap my head around it. My chest hurts, literally hurts and I feel like I can't breathe. My parents were.talking to me and I couldn't take it in, I felt like I was hearing them underwater. I asked Hayley to tell me about their new dog but I don't know if she did and now I can't remember if I really asked her or just thought about it.

I don't understand what's happened. I keep trying to fix it in my head and it slips out of my mind, like I'm grabbing at fish in a stream.

I don't understand. I thought I was smart, or smarter than this, but I don't understand. I don't understand anything.

Life is so weird. Ben Heg announces he and Jo are expecting their first kid, the same day Mike's grunkle dies. Their baby, Zachary Bo (Zachareebo) is born the day a friend miscarries. And they pick the name the same day our grandpa dies. RIP Grandad HongKong, you were a top tier grandad.

Just passed a bunch of kids hanging out at the end of my road and overhead this little snippet:

Kid1: im a mossosaur*, hes basically a really really big dinosaur
Kid2: well im t-rex, that means king thunder lizard, he's the leader
Kid1: t-rex isnt shit, you need to school yourself on dinosaur knowledge

It made me smile, and it reminded me of the time prawn declared he didnt like long necked herbivore dinos because "they're common", which happened when he was in his twenties and is therefore even funnier than these two primary schoolers with Firmly Held Dinosaur Opinions, and which i liked so much i ended up working into an eerie fic for no reason other than it amused me

*spelling mistakes mine, evidently kid2 isnt the only one who needs dinosaur schooling

So last night my Dad ambushed me as I walked home with Mike and now we're having lunch with him next Tuesday.

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

I mean, don't get me wrong, we've been going out for six months and practically living together for four of them, so it's not as if "Oh by the way, my Dad is a faffing hen and a full-on insaniac" hasn't come up in conversation already, but there's a difference between hearing anecdotes about his faffery and actually witnessing it.

It could be worse though - one of the stories I tell a lot is about how, when you're out with him, he's constantly looking around for other people and he will just bail in the middle of talking to you and glom onto these randoms, totally ignoring you, while expecting you to just kind of hang around and wait 'til these much more interesting people leave and he deigns to speak to you again. It's super-rude and annoying as fuck and he does it all the time, to whoever he's with and regardless of who the random might be.

And in the course of a ten minute stop-and-chat that he engineered in order to force my hand about introducing him to Mike, he did it to us twice.

So, you know. At least he's going into this with an idea of what he's getting.

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What's a more appropriate wardrobe choice for visiting your smallest brother in prison - 1974 Stark Expo or sparkley Thor and Loki?

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Just before Christmas, I went to visit the Prawn and dropped off a load of books for him. I wasn't sure if they'd really be his cup of tea, since I'm all about fantasy and he's all about gritty realism, but I figured being in jail is probably real enough for him, and anyway, if he dies without reading Skullduggery Pleasant or Johannes Cabal then he might not get into heaven.

So I was half expecting to have them politely returned with a request to look out for drug lords' memoirs next time I'm in Oxfam, but today I come home and there's a postcard:

"Do you think Johannes Cabal lieks mupkips?"

On balance, I think Johannes Cabal would deny lieking mupkips even if he secretly did, so I guess we'll never know.

Horst definately lieks them, though.

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So the Hen finally moved out on Friday. I thought I would be relieved when he left, because it would cut down on the constant fucking drama around here, but actually I felt pretty sick and guilty about the whole situation. Of course, moving out didn't stop him coming back the next night and henning and penning around for a few hours, so a) does't seem like much is going to change and b) I feel annoyed enough fo it to overwhelm any residual guilt or empathy I might have felt.

And today I went 'round to a friends' house after work, and it turned out the reason she hasn't been returning anyones' calls recently is because her dad just got fifteen months for possession of child pornography, so I pretty much take that as the universe telling me to get the fuck over myself, because let's face it, at least my dad's not in jail for kiddie porn. So... yay, I guess.

Oh, you have GOT to be fucking kidding me. Get home from work and the Hen has emptied the fucking fridge-freezer, there are melting stacks of food all over the kitchen and he's clucking and pecking and acting like this is anything other than a deliberately engineered disaster in which he ruins masses of food that he didn't pay for, pisses everyone off and renders the kitchen unusable. He's also just used half a bottle of MY shower-gel as a substitute fo Fairy Liquid, rather than just going to the fucking Co-Op.

How fucking hard is it to understand that when I say "I can handle this, thanks," what I actually mean is "stop faffing around and get the fuck out of my way before your brain-damaged squawking annoys me to the point where I stab you to death and throw your corpse into the fucking sea"? Christ. Learn to fucking listen.