Much like a hurricane,
chaos spirals around the Gallagher household
with enough warning to be aware of such an existence
but without the foresight to plan anything,
let alone something extensive.
There is no such thing
as calm in this dilapidated, destroyed, disgusting household;
if something bad could happen,
it certainly did happen.
Fiona was no religious woman,
but she often found herself
(in the dark of the night,
during the sunshine of broad daylight,
during the spare seconds of personal time,
during every moment when space and time conspired against her,
during every moment she breathed
and during every moment her heart beat)
braying for peace
praying for quiet
praying for calm that lasted for more than a split second,
but tranquility was nothing but
a painful tease,
an unreachable dream
so unrealistic Fiona was unsure how it weaseled her way into her vocabulary.
She sighed, a lonesome pathetic sound;
as the court ordered AA meetings she attended always said:
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change…
Because one of those things she could not ever,
in a million years, change,
was the Gallagher way:
chaos and bloodshed
anger and hate
all the spite one dysfunctional family could muster.
It was Fiona's life
and it was her own.