Fuck All That, We've Gotta Get on with These
Like the flu, grief has moved into my life without notice, and taken control of my body. I am spinning, reeling. My mom is dead. Very dead. This isn't a newsflash, but my grief came to the surface suddenly. It is percolating now, in the cool of the night. For two days I have been bereft. Bereft. If I didn't have a wife and kids. . . I have lost the will to live. I feel sick. Like its creeping back again, the veil of depression. Chaotic Disorder is playing on the computer and is cheering me up--this punk song's eponymous lyrics reminds me of mom, "fuck religion, fuck politics, fuck the lot of you." I have been non-functional for months. fuck.