Soaked in Preservative Fluids

...namely two coffees, two mugs of lemon tea, one Coca-Cola and one Sprite. It's amazing my stomach is holding out under the siege.

I feel like someone called me up and told me someone I loved died. My mouth hangs slack and I can't string together words into decent sentences. Sunday night's talk amounts to a funeral anyway, a funeral of almost five years of friendship. I want desperately to care, to shout, to cry, to pray but if I allow myself to open those gates one inch, I'll feel like I'm in the coffin along with the dead and I'm not ready for it.

I should wallow. But like Rory, I choose to make To Do lists and schedules. This is how I mourn.

Thank you for those who have been holding my hand.