I can't fucking do this. I'm sick of being polite to people. I'm sick of people thinking they want to talk to me about you and that I really want to hear what they fucking have to say. I don't want to go to your viewing tomorrow. The only thing that'll push me there is dad. And I swear to god and sonny jesus...I have no patience for the D cousins. They have no fucking excuse to not have stopped by the house by now. None. I won't accept excuses. I won't be polite. I don't want their fucking consolation. I want them to come in, say goodbye and leave five minutes later. That's all the fucking time I have for them.
Some moments are better than others. We're able to remember you and smile. Not sure how that's going to work out today. I didn't approve your obit, but I just can't do it. I just can't. I know dad wanted me to write it, but it's so hard. Writing it makes it so real. I don't want reality yet. I want to wake up from this horrible nightmare.
