Well, it's over. My uncle died at 8 o'clock last night. The Boy & I were en route to my parents' house when it happened, and we spent the rest of the night fielding family phone calls and washing clothes for my trip to Europe. My mom died my hair for me, and I was able to relive some of my less pleasant childhood moments, what with the pulling and tugging as she washed through the foam.
We're still going to Holland. Our tickets are non-refundable. Mom is trying to remain steadfast in the face of her other brothers, as they've begun to do the ever-enjoyable Dance of Placing Guilt in the wake of my uncle's death. I'm actually glad that we'll be out of town for the main part of this Dance: my mother and my aunt are two of the kindest, calmest, sweetest and most caring people in the family. The fact that my less-caring, less-right-acting relatives are about to stick knives into each other (and no doubt into our absent forms) makes me absolutely livid. If we're out of town, it reduces the chance that I'll tell my relatives to go fuck themselves in the middle of the funeral.
Always a good thing.
I'm scrambling to finish my epitaph right now, so that the Boy can read it for me. Also I need to pack. My vacation vow is to write in notebook every evening, so that I don't spend months sifting through patchy memories to give a delayed account. This may replace my Lenten vow, as I slipped up and had a beer last night while sitting with my co-workers.
(Quick update on the job: yesterday I finally found the union rep and she came in with me to have a talk with the principal about intimidating the shit out of me last weekend. From now on the rep is going to be sitting with me in any and all meetings as to my performance. I feel much better.)
Okay. I'll see you in a week.
