The Art Of Grief Manipulation

I am considering joining a grief group. That even sounds weird. It sounds like something I shouldn’t have to be considering. I would rather just pretend like none of this ever happened. But even with a grief group, I manage to manipulate the experience and have twisted, unreal expectations. For example, I weigh whether to attend this group in Woodland Hills, which is closer to my work, or West LA, where I feel the grievers would be more to my liking. I am judging the grievers by where they live. Who lives in Woodland Hills anyway? In my mind, it is a kind of suburban utopia. I have an image of being surrounded by eighty year old widows and middle aged housewives who have lost a parent to old age or a book club friend to breast cancer. I can’t believe I am judging grief. What have I become? I am trying to influence the googlemaps page, so Sawtelle appears closer, simply so I can surround myself by those that I presume will be dealing with a loss that is more fashionable. Maybe a gay guy dealing with the death of his partner to AIDS, or a hip thirty something actress who’s sister was murdered in the East Village. I can’t believe I even have these thoughts; I shouldn’t even be allowed through the door of the support center.