The process going on in my head of being awarded the difficult & honorable task of speaking at my father's funeral by a non-writer & glossophobic lady.
  1. Phase I: In denial
    What? Why? How? Me? Fuck.
  2. Phase II: Ask for advice
    Bad idea. Everyone sucks.
  3. Phase III: Let's get funny
    Joke I: Card carrying member of the Dead Dad's Club // Joke II: "This is how you know you're an adult..."
  4. Phase IV: Acceptance
    Realizing that the joke route isn't going to fly since the only person that would laugh at your jokes is dead. #RIPpops
  5. Phase V: Let's get serious
    Sitting down at a cafe with great coffee, useless wifi & handwriting favorite memories on paper. // Witty comebacks, favorite food he's made, quiet time with coffee, meowing instead of talking, etc.
  6. Phase VI: Cry*
    Ah, shit. Let's face it. This isn't just reserved for this phase.
  7. Phase VII: Slaying that eulogy
    Bringing everyone to tears with my perfect eulogy. (Pending)