Break out the hot rollers and hair spray. Black dresses and suits, jackets and shoes. There's been a death in the family and we put on the front there is fun in funerals. Shopping sprees, as if I have the time, money, or energy to show myself in pubic. I have a medicine head, sinuses all stopped up, chest on fire. Forcing shallow bursts of ogygen just to the surface levels of my lungs requires too much effort. Sometimes I wish I were a computer and someone would turn me off. Or I could just spontaniously shut down. Maybe that's what happens when we died, we've finally taken enough shit in this life tiem and the mother board fizzles out fast and we finally meet our maker.


I long for a deep breath. A laugh that did not bring on bouts of coughing that sounds more like a barking fit. I used to get sent out of classrooms for coughing like this. It's a family trait, one of the many I wish I did not inherit.



Families are funny things. Your tied to them in a genetical sense that you technically have soem of the same genetic make-up to your blood. But how much does blood bond people? Does it tie us together for eternity, a lifelong witness to our sins, stories, sadness, success?

The memories bond us in insignifigant ways, flashes of an already old man enjoying life from his recliner. I am not ready physically or emotionally for a funeral tomorrow. I don't even want to eat all the fattening food that will be present and mess up my hard work at bootcamp. I miss the sweat. I want to get back to my summer of sweat where my body is what is crying and in pain, not my heart.