Silence

I got to work early today. Very early. I don't know if it's worth dragging myself out of bed at an obscene hour for, but whenever I do this I'm struck by how much I enjoy being in the office when I'm pretty much the only one here. Well, the only one in my wing of the building at least. Everything is very peaceful, I think I concentrate better (why, just look at me concentrate on this entry!), etc. Plus, during the summer, the weather is lovely at 6:00 a.m. And I got the best parking spot in the lot.

God, I'm already tired.

Tonight is my grandfather's wake in Kenosha. I'm not looking forward to it, or the funeral tomorrow. (Does anyone look forward to wakes and funerals? Besides Harold and Maude?) Interestingly, the part I'm looking forward to the least is everyone crying. I'm fine with crying when it's not being done by my close relations. But for some reason, when it is my family, I hate it. I'm trying to probe my motives on this one, and I can't come up with anything satisfactory. It's not that I hate to see my family in pain (though obviously I don't love to see my family in pain), or that I have some kind of super hero image of any of them. I don't even mind the idea of them crying. I just mind having to be there when it happens. Is this as weird as it sounds to me? I guess we've never been an extremely emotionally demonstrative family (though my parents were never cold or distant or anything), so stuff like this just gives me the willies. I mean, I could have a big sobfest with my friends and not mind a bit. Ah well, nothing about this is going to be fun. So I guess I'll just deal with it, won't I?