I am sad, damnit.

Tomorrow is the Deathiversary, and I am suffering from a severe case of premature ejaculation sadness. Compounding matters is the guilt. I have guilt. Have I mentioned my guilt?

I feel guilty for being sad. Half of me spends the entire time I’m sad thinking “dude it’s been three years, get over it” – and the other half of me is incredulous at my own insensitivity, thinking “dude your dad died and it’s only been three years, you can be sad as you want for as long as you want” and then there’s another part of me thinking “I want some Diet Coke”.

It’s stupid. I know it’s stupid. There is no statute of limitations on grief, and I loved my dad and it sucks that he’s gone. It’s been three years – somehow that seems like an eternity, but some days it feels like it was last week.

I had the first two deathiversaries off, so I could wallow around in my own sadness. Tomorrow I have no such luxury, and I’m wondering how it’s all going to play out.

Then there’s the guilt for the whole “going to New York when my dad was sick because my mom insisted that’s what he would want and then his taking a severe turn for the worse while I was 3000 miles away and making it back to Victoria literally half an hour before he died meaning I never got to hear his voice or know that he heard me telling him I loved him” thing, which is a whole other epic spell in a therapist’s chair.

Yeah, today is full up with the sad.

And yet, I feel bad for feeling sad.

I am not so smart.