(no subject)
I don't really want to talk right now. The act of speaking is kind of revolting at the moment. Talking is my key form of pleasure, it seems so wrong to indulge in it. Instead I'm sitting here silently typing. Some of my friends are in the other room, cooking dinner, I spoke with them a few times, I even smiled when my friend Rob got Habenero in his eye, but I don't want to smile. It feels too early to start enjoying things yet. She's only going to die once, this moment won't come again; I hope it won't come again. I just want the funeral to come. I want to go there and put her in the ground and walk away, leave it behind me and become the person I've always been again.
It's not even the dieing so much. If she'd been hit by a car I wouldn't feel so bad, I'd probably be over it almost immediately, like I was with great grandomther. But she hung from a rope in her closet. It is not the same. It is not the same.
Thanks for your kind thoughts, I won't be calling any of you, maybe we'll type.
It's not even the dieing so much. If she'd been hit by a car I wouldn't feel so bad, I'd probably be over it almost immediately, like I was with great grandomther. But she hung from a rope in her closet. It is not the same. It is not the same.
Thanks for your kind thoughts, I won't be calling any of you, maybe we'll type.