Oh look, a journal. Isn't this something that you're supposed to write in?

In recent news, my great-grandmother of 99 years old passed away in her sleep. She always kept her mind firmly focused on her grandchildren, at least in her later years. No matter how much she'd forget (and she was both aware and afraid of forgetting most of us) she still kept conversation with us and I still talked to her. Our conversations weren't long but at least she was happy.

She was convinced this year that it would be her last, and hoped that she would quickly pass in her sleep, which thankfully proved to be the case.

None of this really sunk in until today when I was at school of all places. Two things happened: I had a memory of her letting me paint her basement with water and a paintbrush, and finding all sorts of inventive ways that us kids could have fun. That and letting us trim the outside hedges with a pair of scissors, hah. The second event happened immediately after I thought of the first: Other people, very, very stupid people decided to simply not do work and wanted to copy my essay. These two feelings came to a head and I stormed out of class. No, I didn't flip anything over, I didn't punch anybody. "Fucking seriously?", was all I said and then walked out of class.

Goddammit. At any rate, I'll be driving up to Canada to attend her burial service, be able to connect with other family and remember my grandmother properly.