Oh man... Wake time... I'm dressed in black pants and a dark red tanktop- with lace. Ew. Carolyn is making me wear it. My hair is relatively straight, parted in angles, I have eyeshadow, some mascara- that which I didn't rub off in disgust, and the faintest hint of peachy sheen lipgloss. Someone help me. He never saw me dressed up when he was alive... why do you think it should be this way when he's dead?

Respect. I know, don't hit me about it. And please don't smack me for talking like this. I'm warding off any emotion right now; it's just the easiest way to get through funerals- feel nothing. I suppose that kind of defeats the purpose, huh?

God, why do people have to die?