Today is better. Good, even. I managed to get solid sleep last night and things are under control at the shop after a rough start yesterday morning. I’m weirdly in a good mood, which feels wrong, somehow.

I’ve been writing and re-writing a post for Tumblr tonight about this past week, but it feels like such a fucked up buzzkill for a stranger to wander into this story, that I felt like shoving it over here was more appropriate.

My boss’s best friend went missing last Thursday. After getting the phone call, he flew out of here, spending the weekend dealing with cops, investigations, and his friend’s family, texting me sporadically with half-formed sentences. Monday night, one of his messages woke me up in the middle of the night, telling me I had to open. The police had found his friend, and he was dead. “I’m so sorry but I’m fucking dying.” 

I don’t know what it is, but the whole situation is just too familiar and it’s gotten under my skin. Watching my boss in the shop today, trying to get work crap done, and seeing the strain on his face when people asked him where he’s been, as he tries to violently withhold the details…. No one wants to know that shit. And no one wants the stigma of having just gone through that shit.

HIs friend was shot in the back of his head, and stuffed in his own trunk, for the record. “Yikes man, so when’s that new Malbec coming in?”

Where are we supposed to put these details? I feel like, as you get older, you start to run out of room for locking grief away. You try to swallow it all and it just makes you sick, bubbling over…it’s hard to remember it does fade, eventually.

Same as it ever was, irreparable holes in your life or no.

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