San's grandfather died on Friday. It has me so upset, and I can't quite figure out why - I never even met him. Or maybe that's the answer. San is such a big part of my life, the thought that I will never have the chance to meet his Granddad hurts. It's as though I've lost something tangible, even though I've only lost an opportunity, an idea, a future event that I have always taken for granted. Add to that the fact that when San hurts, I hurt, and you wouldn't be too far off in assuming that my Friday was somewhat less than enjoyable.

I was planning on spending the evening with him, since he was going to be in town. I'd rented a few DVD's and located the microwave popcorn and gotten all geared up to spend some quality time together. Then he stopped by to give me the bad news. "I'll call you after dinner and you can bring the DVD's to my parents house." he said. Oh sure, because everyone wants to spend the evening watching Hellsing right after their grandfather dies. I told him that if he wanted to spend the evening at home with his mom, that was just fine. He did his "No, really, it's ok" protests, but I could tell I wouldn't be hearing from him again that night. Why is it that he's always so concerned about upsetting me? Even in a situation like this, he's worried about what I might want to do. Part of me thinks it's sweet, and part of me wishes he'd get some balls and tell me what he wanted once in awhile. Pah. Men are so confusing.

Then I spent the rest of the evening flipping between feeling sorry for myself because I was all alone, and feeling guilty and angry because I was selfish enough to even think of feeling sorry for myself when San's world had just been shot apart. My therapist, James, (yes I have a therapist, though I find admitting as much slightly humiliating) would tell me "KJ, you have a right to feel sorry for yourself. You have to accept your feelings, and stop feeling guilty about them." I could seriously hear James' voice in my head all evening, talking about self-esteem and acceptance and the importance of expressing my emotions, and to be entirely honest that started to piss me off, too. I mean, if I have a right to feel sorry for myself, don't I also have a right to feel guilty about feeling sorry for myself? Who are you to tell me I shouldn't feel guilty?! And so on and so on, until I really didn't make sense any more but continued ranting nonetheless. I'm very good at that.

Meanwhile I'm sitting here completely freaked out, because San and his mom are taking turns driving to New Mexico for the funeral right now and they probably won't be there until about three in the morning, and even under the best of conditions (i.e. not winter, not the middle of the freaking night, and not when the driver has been too upset to sleep for the past two nights) the thought of car trips makes me tense. In these conditions, I'm amazed I'm still able to type. So much for therapy, I guess. What I really need is some Valium.