See my daylog from yesterday for context.
Nick died at noon yesterday. Since Nick's family live about an hour and a half away, we didn't go see them or anything. Instead we all got together at somebody's house and tried to make ourselves feel better over pizza and Shiner Bock and ice cream. It sorta worked. It sorta helped too that most of us brought our small children. Somehow death, no matter how tragic or cruel, seems somehow less ... what's the word? ... death loses her sting when there are little girls in princess dresses running around the garden.
Wifey and I are making arrangements for babysitting so we can go to the funeral, which we assume will be tomorrow or Saturday. Fortunately, people are lining up around the block to help us out. Sure, we want to go out to an adult themed movie on a weekend, and it's like we are lepers; it takes a funeral to get any babysitting around here. That was my attempt at gallows humor.
I've been dealing with it by gorging myself on food and not thinking about it. Mainly, I have put it out of my mind by obsessing on getting my homebrewing hobby restarted. Also, I've used playing with my daughter as an excuse not to think about it. Only this morning did I have the guts to actually pray about it. Standing around waiting for the coffee shop to open, I looked skyward, toward the half moon, and prayed for comfort and mercy on behalf of Nick's family. I don't need it. Give my share to them. I hope God/Goddess/Xenu/Giant Spider was listening.
So here I am at work. Pretending that nothing is wrong. All I can think about doing is stuffing my face. I think it is a testament to my psychological development that I want to gorge myself on fried chicken and pie rather than vodka. I've come a long way. I'd be a totally kickass zen master if I could just cope with the infernal emptiness I feel inside.