oh, that mandolin

I've been crying all day, I can't stop.
The raging headache doesn't help.
How am I expected to get through tomorrow? All these years I've had to prepare for it, and for nothing-- it hasn't made any of this easier. I've had to run this funeral through my head a thousand times, and I still can't get my mind around the fact that, at 11:00 AM, I will be in Charlotte in my mourning dress, sobbing silently into a handkerchief.
And all I can do is agonize over the decision of whether or not I should wear lipstick.
It's these petty things that are driving me mad.
The little lines that I find running through my head at any given moment.
"All I have are memories now."
"Where did you go? Are you lonely? Are you happier? Are you scared?"
"Why haven't you visited me yet? You're the first to die that hasn't come to see me. Why?"
"WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, LEAVING LIKE THIS?!"

I miss his hands.