Funeral.

I spent 3 hours in a car, from 6 onward, with my dad this morning. we went through three albums driving to Peoria. In Peoria there's the Order of Saint Francis motherhouse. My great aunt Boots was a Franciscan sister. She's dead now.
How could I resist a funeral for a woman I barely knew who was disintegrating in her old age and faith?
She looked like she was sleeping. Normally dead people in their caskets look a little off, like they aren't real. That was definitely my aunt Boots in there, taking a nap. It freaked me out and my dad teased me about the secret cigarette I couldn't do without.
It was, of course, a funeral mass. I've never been to a catholic funeral before so I really didn't know what to do, but I was a good catholic for a hour or so. I sang along to all of the hymns and did all of the responsorial shit and took communion, er, the eucharist, er, whatever.
And when I said "amen" to that priest, I meant it more than I wanted to. And when the younger nun told me she'd pray for my cat to mellow out, I believed her more than I know I believe in prayer.
I'm a little bit in shambles, very uncomfortable. I have been for the past few days. And I just bit all of my fingernails off.
I quit biting my nails, right?

To end things:
My phone number is 708-220-6806. I don't give it out. Now it's on the internet for anyone to call and I will field all of those calls.
and for Lucy, stop that. I did the same thing when Winsty told me.