I miss my grandma.

But I don’t want her to be alive again and I don’t want anything to do with it.

I am thirty-three.

Practically every weekend I’d spend at her house growing up. She was my third “What do you do when not home and school doing whatever it may be?”

Fridays would be my favorite day of the week. If the Friday of the week was during an end of year holiday my mom would pick me up instead of the bus knowing I had nothing to do aside anything fun that happened. I’d see my grandma and take her to the store (old) so we would help her and I’d pick my small chip bag snacks for while I am there.

Fun. Fun. But I also don’t miss it either.