Well, my grandfather has passed away in the early morning hours of Christmas.

I'm not quite sure how to deal with it. I am at work. What am I supposed to do. Go to the bathroom and break down, suck it up, buy something expensive, pretend that Christmas is just fucking awesome, how do I…what do I do?

I still don't have a home to go to. I am still sleeping at my inlaws's house. I've laid out stockings there, wrapped presents there, and I don't have the money for the sort of groceries one needs to put together a fancy dinner. I can make deviled eggs – I can make a shit ton of deviled eggs.

That's what I'll do. I will do my job. I will go home. I will watch Sir open his gifts. I will open mine. After all, we spent our wedding money on making each other smile. Might as well…smile. Then I'll make an epic number of deviled fucking eggs, take a few xanax, and sleep for as long as I can before I have to go back to work again.

This is fucked up.

I don't want to hear by text, by facebook, an hour after it happened. I don't want to be asked if I'm fucking okay. I don't want to carpool up there – I want to be alone so I can cry if I want to fucking cry. I don't want to wait and hope someone gets me the funeral details in time for me to make the 12 or more hour drive up for it. I don't want to listen to how unfortunate it is that he passed away on Christmas, on his daughter's birthday, and I sure as fuck don't want to listen to how GOOD it is that he died on Christmas.

I don't want to listen to anything. Except Flogging Molly. I will open iTunes, play Devil's Dance Floor, and pretend that.

Nothing.

Is.

Fucking.

Wrong.