If you would like to donate to a cause I have a lot of feelings about, here is one.
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Grief is weird.
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It’s like getting a repeat 404 error in your brain. “Error: person not found. Guess I’ll do the dishes.” Finding out you were gone was such a crazy experience that I got home and couldn’t wait to text you about it. Dude, you wouldn’t believe all the shit that just happened.
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You will get so sick of super well-meaning people saying “sorry for your loss” that by day two the lady barging into your kitchen totally unannounced to yell “What the fuck happened?!” will be the only one you want to hear from because that’s the only thing anyone has said in the last 48 hours that has made any sense at all.
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You lose all sense of time. You think it’s been like three hours. It’s really been fifteen minutes, but it’s also four days later than you thought it was.
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Golf ball to the head-assed emotion. Doink, blackout, what the fuck happened? Where am I? Ow, fuck. Jesus, what day is it? Where the hell did all this casserole come from? You wouldn’t believe the shit that just happened. Where are you? Oh, right. Yeah. I gotta go to work tomorrow. What a load of garbage.
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I should probably do something. I have to do something. There is literally nothing I can do. There’s nothing anyone can do. That isn’t a thing. Shut up. Go away. I hate it. What did I go into this room for?
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Fuckin’ bizarre state to be in, man.
Dramatic Pause 