I’m going to the parents for the annual ritual sacrifice celebration and, gods be with me, pie and turkey dressing. My mom makes a turkey dressing that you would kill your mom to eat. Once you mix that with her tender cooked bird, potato salad, and buttered rolls, you have yourself heaven on a plate. But goddamn if it isn’t worth the 10 pounds of holiday weight gain.
Most others call this ritual Thanksgiving. Today, I’m gonna calling a shovel a spade.
Going home tends to affect me in ways I can never fully describe. For one thing, I haven’t consistently lived in my parents house for over a decade, yet I always catch myself calling it home. That isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It’s mostly weird and unsettling. It’s unsettling because I’ve not made a home for myself and I don’t have any clear ideas where that home would be or how I’ll ever achieve it.
It’s weird cause everything in and around the homestead insists on staying smaller than I remember them being. And I’ll be damned if it doesn’t still feel like home.
I have a hope that thanksgiving will cure me of this can’t-give-a-fuck malaise that’s come over my thoughts the last month or so. At the very least it’ll temporarily stomp those bastard thoughts down. That way I can play at being a full human for, roughly, another 3 months.
I haven’t felt human in some time. This explains my lack of posting in this section. You try saying crap when you feel there’s nothing left in the world to say.
Enjoy the Thanksgiving, those who dare celebrate it. Give thanks for the food. Give thanks for the parents who continue to treat you like you’re 8 years old and just peed in the bathwater. Watch HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS cause it’s the best damn Thanksgiving movie that’s ever violated my eyes. Give a thought to the indigenous folk who kept this land warm for the future America.
And remember to ignore the whole parent-thing cause most likely they still love you and they best show that love these days by nagging you half to death every chance they get. Doubly so on holidays.
Go eat some bird and hug some people, America. And pray to whomever you believe that I get my pie and dressing.
