No One in The Stuff That's Not Interesting But Is The Most Interesting Stuff I'll Write

Today was the funeral. My mother sang, my stepfather gave the eulogy and my grandfather was the pastor of the ceremony. I think that might be why I have such a strange perspective on death. I’ve been to so many of these things and seen all the crying and hysteria. I’m definitely moved by other people’s pain (my cousin’s son, who is not yet five started crying hysterically at one point, and when he ran to my little brother, I almost lost it)… but I couldn’t lose my cool because I was the photographer for the event.

My grandfather has always facilitated death, and I’ve always stood in his shadow watching and listening to phrases like “yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death” or “no one comes to the Father except through me”. I did remember the good times I had with him, though, and it was nice to remember that not all of my memories of the past are painful, although that’s all I seem to remember these days.

I didn’t do anything on Valentine’s Day, in fact, I didn’t realize it was Valentine’s Day until the next day and I realized that our group of guys were supposed to go see Deadpool, but no one called me. It’s okay, I’m not really too upset about it. I wanted some time alone because I’d had a really horrible experience a few nights prior. I took the hippy home with me because he was too drunk to drive, and he was too drunk to do a few other things on his own either. I’ve never in my life had to do some of those things except for an elderly relative.... let’s just say, I’m not exactly looking forward to seeing the hippy again.

Work is fine. School is stupid. Everyone around me is assuming that I’ll get the job in France and so every time I see someone that I don’t see on a daily basis it’s “have you heard about the job yet?” and I just want to scream at them. “Aren’t you excited?” they ask.

No.

No I am not excited.

No one who ever gets excited actually gets what they want. That is a lesson I learned when I was younger and so I quite restrict my feelings of anticipation and enjoyment around life changes such as this so that I don’t get too invested in something that might not happen anyway.

I know that going back to France is all I’ve ever wanted since I boarded that plane in Paris, I was not happy to leave and come back, but frankly, the idea that I could get this job is a longshot at best and a miracle to say the least. Everybody keeps saying with certainty, “Oh, you’ll get it” and I have to keep myself together every time because I just become enraged. No one can predict the future.

Every time I run into my friend James, he says that I seem so sad. I wish I knew how to explain what it is because I’m not sad anymore. I’ve gone past sad. I’m not exactly numb, either. It’s like the shell of me has been calcified into a permanent state of blah and the rest of me has been emptied out. Next time James says this to me, I’m just going to tell him that I’m hollow. I’m waiting for someone to fill me up but no one wants to.