More sad news.

The days of ridiculously cheap beer are gone, I fear.

R scored another case and a half of Smithwicks and cleaned out the WalMart in Eureka, but when I went back to the one closest to us, the Smithwicks bin ticket was gone. So I guess they're not going to sell it anymore, which is probably why it was so cheap, but hey - it still tastes like it's supposed to!

I have three cases sitting on my living room floor. And I'm afraid if I have one, I won't be able to stop.

That's what you call Irony, kids.

Maybe I could take the kids to Grant's Farm. They'd cut me off after two. Unless I whip out my tits. Never tried that.

Adding another dimension to my Melancholy and Infinite Sadness is my Grandmother's failing health and my constant sense of my own mortality. She's basically waiting to die. My parents are with her, which is good. And I wanted to go, too, but it's a 600 mile drive and my mom didn't want me to be on the road alone. I wanted my mom to fly my sister here from Austin and then she and I could drive together, but my sister didn't want to go. She's not a funeral person, she says.

I've been to some absolutely incredible, beautiful, inspiring funerals. What I hate is how every time, I can't stop thinking about how the family of the deceased has to go home afterwards to a house that will never feel the same again. And how life goes on the next day. The sun still rises, even though a world without our loved one doesn't seem possible.

See, I kinda don't want the world to go on without me. If it doesn't matter to the world whether I'm dead or alive, then what purpose does my existence serve? If the world could go on without me, then why am I on this planet? What's the point of Sarah?

I'm completely superfluous. Extraneous. Dispensable. Replaceable. What am I DOING here? I should probably be inspired to greatness by that thought, but instead, right now, I'm just overwhelmed and exhausted by it.

So I wanted to go to the funeral for a couple of reasons. Mainly, I wanted to be helpful to my parents. My dad will be doing the funeral, and I kinda wanted to be there for that, honestly. My dad is so awesome and brilliant in those situations, it's really quite something to see. And part of me wanted to go to make myself feel better. I didn't feel like I'd done enough in the last few months to make her transition into the next life (if you believe in that sort of thing) peaceful. But it wouldn't have mattered how much I did; I still wouldn't have felt like I'd done enough. That's just how I am.

Why do I do stuff for people? Because I want to leave an indelible impression on the people I meet. That way, I fill another seat at my funeral; add another line or two to my obituary. I'm securing my place. Reinforcing what I perceive to be my own value. Reminding the world that I'm here too. I'm pretty sure that I have a genuine phobia (I actually think the clinical definition applies) of being forgotten. Is there a word for that? Maybe that's why the Full-Spectrum Heartbreaker hurts so much. I feel forgotten. I think Full-Spectrum Giddy's going to work out (and I'm cautiously thrilled), but I don't think Heartbreaker will, sadly.

And my throat's hurting again. I swear if it's Strep for the 3rd time, Imma be hella PISSED. Last summer it was the eyeball ulcer that wouldn't die. This year it's Summer of Strep. Isn't THAT all I fuckin need.

But, just so that this post isn't a total downer - after a week of feeling like an absolute Hershey Squirt in the Underpants of Life, Tito whipped out yet another artistic masterpiece and, for a few moments, I was floating peacefully above the Apocalypse.

I apologize for the quality of the pic, but see if you can guess who's on the cross this time.

Hint: It's not Jesus.


Another hint: The squiggly lines at the bottom are snakes.

It's Indiana Jones. See the whip in his hand? Genius.


I love that kid.