Being unable to put them to rest properly is taking an additional toll.
We can ill afford the luxury of mourning, however; Jorgen and Zeline need their parents.
Neil rises through the ranks of the police department, such as it is. His exploits at home indicate that he'll go far. Yesterday he set the grill ablaze while cooking the ubiquitous hot dogs, then had it doused before the rest of us suspected anything amiss. Of course we all still laugh and cheer over his row with the Grim Reaper.
I work hard at Doo Peas. Hayley complains that I neglect the family.
I'd love to spend more time with them; I churn my gut knowing I'm losing Jorgen's childhood. And yet, the work always, always calls.
There's so much to be done. Commerce is in a shambles; what there is of it is black-market and mob-ruled. All attempts to operate a legitimate business thus far have met with retribution. My colleagues and I have formed a clandestine Chamber of Commerce to address these issues. It will take time and collaboration with the nascent police force. It may well cost us our lives.
The Papyrus Memorial Library is open for business! I'm astounded that our dirty, hungry, frightened little band could accomplish this.
The children are growing up, bright as buttons, both of them.
Now that they're both at school, their mothers have gone out to work. Deena is with Landgraab Laboratories.
Hayley is with the Sunset Valley Sentinel. At the moment it's still an underground paper; we both hope to see the day that it's published and distributed openly.
I make time to play ball with Jorgen. As a child, I ate my heart out over being clumsy and not so good at games as Dad and Neil. I want Jorgen to have the confidence I didn't. Not that he lacks any; his marks are top drawer and he's determined to be a surgeon when he grows up.
Have we always been such a contentious lot? It seems that things were much more peaceful when we were kids, even confined to the shelter nearly 24/7. I suppose it's to be expected, now we are six in this small space.
Deena says she's been speaking with Mum's ghost.
How do I phrase this politely? Let's just say that Deena's imagination has a good bit freer rein than most.
I've suggested to Hayley that razor tongue and acerbic wit may have more place on the editorial page than here at home. Is it a no-brainer that I needn't have bothered?
Her constant flirting was much more charming when we were teens and it was directed towards me. It started getting old back when Dad was alive.
I'm less charmed with each passing day.
This is the last straw; it's all I have in me not to take a swing!
Mum and Dad's ghosts are indeed wandering about. Perhaps they can guide us back to the civility we had once upon a time. Nonetheless, I stand by all previous statements regarding Deena's loopiness.
