10 July 2005


Work is slow. Work is always slow this summer, or so they tell me. I'm sweating buckets and I avoid the mirror in the dining room because I don't want to even imagine what my customers have to look at right now.

I get lots of hugs, even from people who hate to touch or be touched. Everyone's sorry about my dad; some reminisce for a few minutes before punching in an order or running out a tray of food. New people feel awkward: "oh, it was your father. Sorry sorry sorry sorry I didn't realize I must look like an ass." "No, no it's fine. It's not like you know me." Mostly it really is fine, though, because I can say I'm terrible and that it sucks and I can say it just like that. And that's the part that's fine.

This grieving thing is strange. This guy in Memphis, this friend of my father's who's also my sixth cousin or something, he told me that grieving is the strangest thing that humans do because you can still laugh and eat and get on with it until one second BANG you're in pieces. And the BANG can happen ten years later or even in your sleep. Moira says the stages of grief are crap because they don't happen in any true order. And because they happen all over again every single day.

"So what are we drinking?" cause it's too hot to eat.

betholindo at 15:42

previous | next