Ugh. I'm so tired already, I don't know how I'll get through the next three days. I had envisioned a small funeral because we have a small family, but it's morphing before my eyes into My Big Fat Pain-in-the-Ass Funeral, as friends and former friends call other former friends, and now people are coming from as far away as Atlanta. That's sweet, but frankly, annoying - almost none of these people so much as picked up the friggin' phone even once for the entire two years my husband was sick and housebound, when he could have used a call or a visit, so now they are missing him and want to come? How typical. I am already in a Fine Mood over this, but the funeral train has left the station and all I can do is paint a pained smile on my face and go along for the ride. The important arrangements are done, and the peripheral stuff really doesn't matter, as long as it makes no more work for me I really don't care, and of course, they do mean well. I just shake my head at the sitcom-like absurdity of it all.


My husband's best friend called around 10 last night, and I have no idea what I may have agreed to since I had just fallen asleep and was somewhat confused, but I think a bunch of people we haven't seen since the damn EIGHTIES are showing up. I know their names, they used to work with my husband, but I don't know them and never considered them friends. The good news is he (the best friend) is going to take care of feeding and entertaining them at his house, which is very nice, since as far as I am concerned they could all go to fuckin' Denny's, because I don't know them and therefore feel less than zero responsibility for their care and feeding. Unfortunately, I think I did agree to get transported to the best friend's house for this event after the burial, so I need to have a word with the limo driver that "No matter what that man said, you are taking me back to MY house so I can get my own car." I don't want to be trapped there for hours with a bunch of strangers who used to work with my husband, especially not while I'm wearing high heels and hose, makeup melted off face and hair frizzed, because by the time the burial is over it will have been a very long, very hot, thoroughly lousy day. I am not going to let myself get held captive at someone else's house, where I must be gracious over platters of cold cuts - I'll give them an hour of Semi-Gracious and get the hell out of there. But as my ever-so-wonderful and pragmatic Sorority Girl pointed out, I can be as bitchy as I wanna be and they will excuse it because I'm Grieving. She pointed out that we basically have a License to Be Bitches right now, so we might as well use it. This is why I love the girl!


Then, after that call was over and I fell alseep again, my SIL called to say some elderly uncle I've never met is going to come to the funeral too. That's fine, he's at least family and also her responsibility. I've managed to structure things that I don't have to deal with entertaining too many people, but even so, I am living on the traditional funeral food groups, caffeine, sugar and alcohol, and consequently I've developed a perpetual dull headache which only adds to my bitchiness. At least I am back to exercising - during my morning quiet time I read blogs, drink coffee and then get on the exercise bike. It helps. And in a few days this will be over and I can go back on my diet, spend a few days with the kids doing useful things, like getting a long overdue haircut and taking stuff to Goodwill.


It's very good to have the kids here, we are actually having Normal Family Time, eating out, talking - they went with me to finalize the details for the funeral service, and made wonderful contributions. We were amused and aghast at the vast displays of funeral tchotchkes for sale - it reminded me of the cutesy crap sold for weddings and high school graduations, and the three of us had a fine time critiquing the tackiness, though not in front of the funeral director, who really was a nice guy and "comped" us a few items (like they're not built into the obscene overhead cost already) like a guest book and prayer cards, which should help offset my parents' muttered criticism that I'm just not being traditional enough. Like my husband was a traditionalist? Where were these people for the past couple of decades? He's getting a Catholic funeral and a military burial, how freakin' traditional can you get? What do they want, that freakin' horse that follows the presidental funeral cortege? I can only roll my eyes... and somewhere, I am quite sure my husband is rolling his.


Needless to say, no knitting has been done.