I don't know why I feel like I'm not allowed to be sad that my
grandmother is dead, but there it is. Maybe because it's the holidays, and it's just too damned cliched to miss dead people during the holidays. But the melancholy keeps coming up, and I keep
shying away from it. It's like my conscious, dominant brain says to my subconcious, "No, not now. You can be sad later, when it's not so pathetic."
...but it wasn't my dominant hand I was drawing with today.