My family has not been blessed with as much goodness as there ought to be. Opportunities for happiness have pounded at our doors, but at the same time the back door is opened without invitation to disaster and a cold wind seems to be constantly sweeping through our rooftops. At the most ceremonious and sacred of events--funerals and weddings--where families should be coming together and holding closer than ever, my family smiles awkwardly in reluctant photographs and smile through gritted teeth upon greeting. Behind closed doors, the storm really takes affect. I suppose its mainly the women right now. My mother, her mother-in-law, her sister, her daughter, my sister. I'm the only who seems to be able to balance on the border line of everyone's warzone. The problem is, I'm beginning to play monkey in the middle for too long. I'm too loyal to my family ties to run away from anything--even if it's just for a couple of hours--so I sit here quietly and endure it all; I turn up the volume of the movie on TV and continue to load the dishwasher peacefully as WWIV blows through the downstairs. The sad thing is, the shouting doesn't bother me so much. The shouting doesn't concern me or frighten me that much because they're shouting; because people say things they don't always mean when they shout; because the heat of their emotions are talking, rather than their common sense and heart. It's when they're just talking, just sitting together and talking, when I get concerned. When a back turns and someone throws a dart or when they give each other the stare-down. I had hoped that by now everything between every one would have resolved its self. I thought something so dramatic as a family death might enlighten people. I had hoped that, nearing the wedding, hearts would become warmer. But I guess everyone has just carved their own path for too long. And if I've been brainwashed, if I've been subjective or partial to one side, I confess it now that this might be so but that I am far than enlightened now; that I see all sides and painfully listen to the ignorance bounce off every corner, the irony tangle in its self. She says this because she's felt that and this one is like this because of her and that one is like that because of this and oh, it's just disgusting. But no one will sit down and talk about it. Because everyone is convinced that no one understands. So we have the martyr, the grouch, and the hottsy-tottsy bitch. And then there's me.