she· verb

What sheverb is

What sheverb is not

Select photos

Archives

E-mail

Get Notified

Home

Tuesday, June 25, 2002
Back in Florida

I can't even begin to half believe that it's all over. That he died, people visited, we had a funeral, we put him in the ground, people ate casseroles, they left cards and flowers, they went home and I came back to Florida. This man lived 73 years, he had a whole life and a family and it's all over in a week? I feel like I'm five years old and someone has to explain death to me--I just don't get it.

I went to the library this afternoon and looked at some books, just to see if they had something that might help. It took me most of this afternoon just to be able to read the titles without crying--they made me sad beyond any thing I've ever felt. I need utilitarian titles! Bring me "THE IDIOT'S GUIDE TO DEATH" and "BURIALS FOR DUMMIES". Leave out the goddamned sentimentality and tell me just how to get on with it, please. I don't want to see weepy babies dressed up like angels or read snippets of funereal verse by Auden. I just want to know that I'm not going crazy, thank you, and that whatever weird fucked up shit I do to get through the next day, the next hour, the next minute, is normal and not indicative of a complete mental breakdown.

Thank goodness my library has a self check out section. I would never have been able to face the caring yet pitying face of a librarian as she perused my selections.

So the real deal is I actually have to do stuff tomorrow and I can’t mope around in my pajamas in front of the TV all day, ignoring the phone. I have to prepare for not one but two interviews later this week. I actually have to be ExecuChick and while I want to pull it off, want to be her, I think I want to curl up in the dark and be very very small more.