I'm tired of death. Tired of selling Dad's things. Tired of cleaning his house. Tired of seeing his pictures. I'm tired of remembering everyone else I've loved who is gone. The last three years have been incredible.

Ken
Aunt Bobbie
Dad
Festus
Angel
Sunscreen Man
Toonces
Liz
Marge

Every one seems like another chunk from my heart, and it hurts. There was a long period there where no one died, even then it was Grampa in 1975 and Gramma in 1992. Then quiet. Jezebel in '06 and Meer in 07. Then quiet.

Then BOOM.

And while everyone is with me every day in my memory, I feel steeped in Dad's death to a point where it feels oppressive. I can't get away from it for a moment. I have to check Ebay every day. Go to Dad's every weekend. My house looks like Ebay exploded.

And mostly I'm just tired.

I'm tired of cleaning and listing stuff and taking pictures and shipping stuff and answer questions about items that I don't know one fucking thing about. I'm tired of detailing what's in magazines and combining postage and screwing things up.

I'm tired of sitting down at work all day and then being so tired that all I want to do is sit down.

I'm tired of listening to the faucet drip and the dog lick herself. I'm tired of dirt and garbage and packing tape. I'm tired of interacting with my family all the time. I'm tired of schedules and spreadsheets.

Oh, well. What can you do? Nuthin'. You can't do nuthin'.