february the 15th

You know, I didn't think I was going to write in this again, but I have to admit, it's addictive, almost calming and therapeutic. Anyhow...

Jessie's funeral was yesterday. It was sad and depressing. I sat in my seat as people around me sobbed as the pastor started talking. I don't believe there was one family member that went up to talk about her and didn't cry. Particularly touching was her father. He spoke of her so highly, almost angelic... and as the tears rolled down cheeks the world seemed to mourn with him - at that moment I felt like I could hear anything accept for his voicing... speaking of her life, what she had done through, her failures and how she defeated them to reach her outstanding achievements. Soon after that everything was really a blur until they started lowering the casket. I really couldn't explain what happened as two people I didn't know began to crank those levers, lowering her into that freshly dug hole. Something reached out, ensnared my heart and began to squeeze. Helpless. Hopeless. Depressed.

Walking away, I noticed my hand was bleeding.

I let it bleed until it just started clotting.

That night I went to a friends house and got shit-faced. No one at that get-together knew I was at a funeral that day. I drank non-stop. When I woke up this morning, only my friend was home, passed out beside me. I woke her up, kissed her on the forehead, said thanks and left.

Summary notes: don't drink too much when thinking about dead loved ones.



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