**This is an older post from the middle of April. I found it in my drafts then published it, not thinking that the original date would not show up correctly. So anyway... here it is:**
My grandfather's funeral was today. I hated it. I hated the whole thing, the uncomfortable atmosphere, the fake smiles and forced hugs... didn't care much for most of the people there... I could've just done without the whole thing.
I will miss him. He was a good man. A GOOD, good man.
I hated the stupid, recorded, female old-church voice that sang 2 hymns in the service and I hated the Irish-sounding recorded male voice that sang the third.
I hated that the ministers who delivered the service stumbled over their words like they barely knew him or at least didn't prepare for what they were going to say.
I hated feeling responsible for my cousin, who seemed mad but whatever, she's seemed mad our whole lives. Probably plays into my feeling responsible for making sure people aren't mad... has messed up a good bit of my adult life. She wanted us to speak together in the service. At first, I'd told her I would. Then I changed my mind. So she decided she wasn't going to speak either, then. THEN she seemed mad. Whatever. Who cares. I am so tired of caring, I could vomit.
I hated the stupid group pictures somebody decided we should take... who takes pictures at funeral receptions?? That's not something you celebrate and memorialize!! I mean for Pete's sake. And I didn't want to be in the stupid pictures. But I let them force me. So then I was mad because my boundaries had been violated.
When I left I told my mom bye and just left. I walked out the door just like I was going get something out of my car... and I got in it and left.
Had to get out of there.
