Wedding on Saturday, which was wonderful. Me and a handful of other writerish friends carried out a savage assault on the on the free bar. Family funeral on Sunday, which was much less pleasant. A full hour of droning about Joseph Beran's two or three obvious hobbies that the funeral director was able to glean, along with a constant stream of Christian claptrap delivered not symbolically but with all perfect sincerity and in full expectation of the beliefs expressed being shared by everyone in the room.
An aunt of mine sent a old-school rhyming poem about cousin Joe in heaven and I was reminded that my generational elder, this woman twenty five years older than me, perfectly intelligent and in fact a school teacher, honestly believes in a physical heaven with angels playing harps and actual undead spirits blissed out like acid casualties while they walk on the fucking clouds.
I remember at the wedding there was some brief discussion of 'coming out' as a nonbeliever to the family. I haven't. I just sort of don't pray or thank God or make any mention of him at all. I will bow my head at meal blessing out of politeness. Beyond that I don't know; maybe I should come out.
I also lost my phone at some point in all this. Not during the debauch on Saturday but Sunday Morning when I remember seeing it on the coffee table I was passed out by; when I was probably still legally tipsy and therefore not hungover. I also nearly ran out of gas coming back to the capital from the funeral. My car is parked in the first available legal spot on the north end of town, awaiting my paycheck. I am very tired.