I am awake. I suppose that's pretty normal for me. I usually am awake at this time of night. But tonight I am awake because I can't turn my head off. I think I don't want to sleep because I don't want to dream. Kind of like Hamlet, but less dramatic. And I'm not wearing tights.
Tomorrow I have to buy nice clothes to wear to Toby's funeral. I don't usually wear dressy clothes. I wear t-shirts and jeans and things like that. I probably have a dress somewhere, but I don't have any idea where. I'll just buy something. I don't have the energy to look.
I talked to Rebecca for a few minutes today. She had gone with some friends and picked out a casket. Actually, I think the friends picked it out for her. That was probably for the best. No one should have to pick out their baby's casket.
The funeral and visitation will be in Rebecca's home town. It's a long way from here so the kids will be missing school. If the school gives me any shit about that I'm going to tell them they can go fuck themselves. I'm almost hoping they do give me shit so that I can tell someone to go fuck themselves. It feels like a good occasion to say that to someone, but I'd feel bad to just walk up to random strangers and say it. It would probably be better to wait until someone actually does something wrong.
Caly said she wished that there was something to fix. I feel the same way. There's nothing fixable about all this. So instead I'm awake at 3 a.m. trying to think of ways to get people to do something wrong so I can tell them to go fuck themselves. Maybe that's what people are supposed to do. Maybe this is a normal reaction. I don't know. I've never had to find out. I don't remember what the stages of grieving are and I'm in a bad mood so even if I did know them I'd probably be doing them wrong on purpose. You know, as a vain attempt at conveying that go fuck yourself sentiment to an idea from a book written decades ago. Futile is the catch-word of the day. Or the night. You get the idea.