Went to a funeral this morning.  Nothing unusual about that, other than it was for an 11-year old girl, and that's just *wrong*.  I managed to hold it together until the vicar read the poem linked below, at which point I confess I cried like a mofo.  The weirdest thing, though, was that her mother seemed to be holding it together better than anyone else.  I'm now very very drunk...

http://members.shaw.ca/davhicks/poems.html#poem21

Her mother is probably fucking exhausted in every possible imaginable way there is to be exhausted.  I don't know her, but I doubt she's got tears left, nor energy to so much as frown.

Well, hard to be happy after something like that.  Life's but a walking shadow and all that.
Better than alcohol, though, is to take some DMT if you can get it.  Toke, trip, cry, toke, trip, cry... repeat as needed.

That's a beautiful, and very, very sad, poem.