23/12/2002 - 6:40 p.m.

A squeezing, wrenching, grasping, clutching, covetous old sinner.

My father's Christmas tantrum was a bit late this year, falling early this morning. As soon as my mother left the house for work, my father was yelling at my brother about things that he was supposed to have done ages ago, but apparently never did. My brother, still half asleep, was arguing that he had intended to do them today.

Today quickly became seven thirty in the morning, as my brother was instructed that he had better get up and finish doing everything that was expected of him before noon or there would be consequences. Before stomping back downstairs, the venerable man informed me that I was to be up as well.

Seven thirty is a very early time of the morning. I do not get up at seven thirty unless I have an eight o clock class. Today, there was no reason for me to be up at that hour, except to humour him, and so I did. For about three hours my brother did laundry and dishes, and I stayed in my room pretending not to exist and reading (reading a 1919 Red Cross benefit book of stories about how wonderful Iowans are, ironically).

At noon, the fun continued because my brother had not sucessfully fulfilled his obligations, it seems. My father informed him that he would not be leaving the house for the rest of the Christmas holidays. This quickly translates to "nobody gets to do anything I do not allocate until February". This means that I'd better not even consider asking to leave the house, because it won't happen. I am, at 18, essentially in the same situation I was all through high school, a prisoner in my own house.

After the charges had been made, my father left to visit his mother. No matter what the problem, my grandmother will feel sorry for his poor little self and all the hardships he endures.

With Scrooge gone, my brother and I had the house to ourselves. However, there is a limit to how much Elf Bowling Two a person can play in one day. Today, I reached my limit. There is nothing to do in this house unless it be work, which I will not do. I'm sorry, it's no longer my affair.

All is joy and laughter in this house then, and more to come tomorrow when we get to make the journey to my grandparents' house, the same as it has been every year for the past 18, and probably longer.

How I manage to look forward to the holiday every year is beyond me. I have 15 more days of this before I can go back to uni. Oh dear.