Grief, you are weird.

And I don't particularly like you.

The other night, I was straightening the aisles after closing time (yeah, cue the outbursts of that song like we all haven't heard it before) and from the renowned PSP radio float the dulcet tones of Tony Bennett's "I Left My Heart in San Francisco." There's nothing particularly remarkable about the song, and it's just one of those generic slow-jazz/swing/big band/whatever-that-genre's-considered songs, pleasing to the ear and nice background music.

But I inexplicably began to cry, right there in the middle of aisle three, where dogs have more choices in shampoo than humans do (okay, maybe that's a hyperbole).

The genre reminded me so strongly of Nana. She was born in '33, so that would explain it, and she loved Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra (and, Mom and I joke, that my grandfather, Nana's husband, looked like ol' Blue Eyes in his younger days). And whenever there was a song she liked or knew, she would croon the song in a not-so-bad singing voice that wasn't-so-good either. I could just see her in her blue rocker-chair (not the typical old lady rocking chair, but sort of like it) singing away.

And then my old nemesis was back, the fingers pressed against the hollow of my throat just above the in-between of my collarbones, the hot prickling sensation against my eyes. My hand was frozen on the Groomer's Blend Herbal Extract and I just felt like a lump, a lump who didn't want to walk all the way up an down the aisles anymore, who didn't even want to move to go home, a lump who just wanted to sit down and cry and cry and cry.

But I wiped away the few stupid salty drops that fell while I was gathering myself up mentally and continued straightening the aisles, doing that brainless monotony that I so often use to keep myself focused. And nobody ever knew the difference.

The thing about grief is that it loves to show up unannounced. It likes to poke its head in the door, or sometimes kick the door down, and waltz right in. It doesn't give you any warning. I like to think there's something that can be said for my ability to be strong and move along with whatever I'm doing, but sometimes I just wish grief would knock, damn it.

Today was much better. I could turn off the emotional parts of my brain. And the only things I had to worry about on PSP radio were "You Raise Me Up" and the techno version of "Livin' On a Prayer." And yes, Joseph, it is the one I've got on Ultra.Trance 4.01. ;)