Best Left Untitled

I thought it was a bad dream. Not even a nightmare, just a bad dream. I take naps after school, usually from 4-6, but this time my sister came into my room. At 4:46 she told me my grandmother pass away. My response according to her was "I'm tired." I thought it was dream, well a bad one, until it dawned on me a little past 5 p.m, that it probably wasn't. Turns out it was true.

I don't know why I'm grieving, if thats what you want to call it. I never met her before, or probably haven't. I guess I'm grieving for my father's loss. I don't want to even think about how I'd feel. Let's not go there.

Well, Great Blog Machine, I don't want to tell anyone what happened. This is my chance to inspire pity in those around me, and fuck, I don't want one bit of it. It's better just to keep it all in my noggin. What would they say if I told them anyways, "I'm sorry," that's utter bullshit. "I'm here for you if you ever need anything," even bigger bullshit.

Poor Appa, he'd already started making funeral arrangements before she even passed. My mom used some big word for it. I don't remember what it was. I remember it was one of those words you just want to spit out and stomp on it. Amma and Appa are cleaning up right now. "Impress the family. Yes, we must put on a good image even when we are grieving. Yes, we shall not let anyone know what a mess our house really is. Yes, let us uphold our reputation." Mother fucking bullshit.

I've got to study for my math test tomorrow. G'day Great Blog Machine.