Snow day. Pretty cool, right?
Wrong.
Because I woke up this morning, got a bowl full of my new favorite yogurt, and was told bluntly that I should check out Fez, my beta.
That right there should have told me what was going on.

You see, I got my bluntness from my parents. A few days ago, Fez stopped eating. Huh, RED LIGHT! But my parents had to chase me around the house, telling me how inevitable his death would be. I told them to get the hell away from me and offended them. But they deserved it a) because NO ONE WANTS TO BE TAUNTED ABOUT DEATH (duh) and b0 because they were literally chasing me around the house and followed me into my room in which I had shut the door in their faces. Talk about annoying.

So basically, both he (my fish) and I knew that he was going to die. Like, the poor thing looked like he was giving up on life. So this morning, he died and my sister and I put on a brief funeral for the guy.

It's not that the death of a fish really bothers me. It's that death, no matter what form, seems to stay unwanted, both too long before and after it takes place. And I can't handle that mood.

But the freakiest part? A woman talked in mass on Saturday about "coping with the death of a loved one," and her damned flyer is still sitting on the counter.