So, apparently, everyone not in my family hates Thanksgiving. It seems so strange because I *love* Thanksgiving. It's my favorite holiday.
Thanksgiving is the big family and eating holiday, and I love my family and eating. We are all really good cooks, so our spread is always bomb.
This year we had the normal stuff, turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, sweet potatoes, rolls, stuffing, cranberry sauce, salad, plus mac and cheese (which I made, and which was fucking delicious) and balsamic glazed brussels sprouts. Everything was excellent, as usual. Andrea made a pumpkin cheesecake that was phenomenal, wow. So amazing. I only had a bite because I was still so full from dinner.
It was really good this year. No kids, which everyone enjoyed. We just had puppy children. Andrea and Dave brought Tyler, and Kristi had her two. They had a lot of fun.
I put like 150 photos on FB. It was my first holiday with the new camera.
I had a wonderful, wonderful day.
It's really cool, too, that my family has managed to grow and change and mature. Because holidays didn't always used to go this smoothly. I remember arguments and ridiculous unnecessary stuff. But today: perfect. Not fighting, no squabbling. Just harmony. And deliciousness.
It makes me realize how lucky I am. Incredibly so. More than I can still even imagine, I think.
So, thank you, fam, for being amazing. Thank you for all your love. Thank you for the food, and thank you for a holiday without a hitch.
God bless us, everyone.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Monday, November 23, 2009
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
ugh
I hate all of you today, and your inane blathering. And no, you will not "make a capitalist out of me." The number one easiest way to piss me off is to remind me of my dad, so kudos to you for doing that this morning.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
heartbreak even
Poor Kirsten. I don't know what I would do if my dad suddenly died. I think she was closer to her dad than I've ever been to mine, too.
On her Facebook update she said "heartbreak = being stronger in the end."
I don't know if I believe that, though. I mean, I totally understand why someone would say that, especially someone still grieving such a tragic loss.
But the concept of "whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger..." I've never really put much stock in that. It seems like sometimes what doesn't kill you becomes a silent burden on your heart. And sure, you can relieve some of the burden by sharing your secrets with a kind friend, but I don't know if they necessarily make you stronger.
Like one of those shatterproof plates that is dropped but does not break bears tiny, imperceptible fissures, and eventually the smallest trauma causes it to shatter into a million tiny pieces.
Sometimes I think heartbreak is like that. I feel like my heartbreaks have been like that: stress fractures on my heart that I've patched up with tape and glue and sometimes they ooze a bit and sometimes they lie dormant but they are always there, living, breathing organisms unto themselves.
The fact that you survive a heartbreak shows you what you can endure, but the matrix of scar tissue enfolding your pain is hard and inflexible, and inside the wound exists still. I'm not saying heartbreak is a weakness. I'm saying it just is. And you are strong for living through it, and maybe you become desensitized to the pain after a while, but pain itself making you stronger? I don't know.
Maybe it does. But maybe not. Maybe pain is just pain, and there is no strong and weak, that distinction is just something arbitrary we make up so things make sense and breakdowns can be explained away.
I just don't know.
Maybe we all just want heartbreak to mean something. We want it to be more than what it is, which is sorrowful.
I don't know. I sort of don't know what I am saying anymore. I'm over-intellectualizing it, which I am wont to do.
So I'll just let it go, now, like a balloon, and it will float up higher and higher until it bursts and whatever poison was inside it will just dissipate into the atmosphere.
On her Facebook update she said "heartbreak = being stronger in the end."
I don't know if I believe that, though. I mean, I totally understand why someone would say that, especially someone still grieving such a tragic loss.
But the concept of "whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger..." I've never really put much stock in that. It seems like sometimes what doesn't kill you becomes a silent burden on your heart. And sure, you can relieve some of the burden by sharing your secrets with a kind friend, but I don't know if they necessarily make you stronger.
Like one of those shatterproof plates that is dropped but does not break bears tiny, imperceptible fissures, and eventually the smallest trauma causes it to shatter into a million tiny pieces.
Sometimes I think heartbreak is like that. I feel like my heartbreaks have been like that: stress fractures on my heart that I've patched up with tape and glue and sometimes they ooze a bit and sometimes they lie dormant but they are always there, living, breathing organisms unto themselves.
The fact that you survive a heartbreak shows you what you can endure, but the matrix of scar tissue enfolding your pain is hard and inflexible, and inside the wound exists still. I'm not saying heartbreak is a weakness. I'm saying it just is. And you are strong for living through it, and maybe you become desensitized to the pain after a while, but pain itself making you stronger? I don't know.
Maybe it does. But maybe not. Maybe pain is just pain, and there is no strong and weak, that distinction is just something arbitrary we make up so things make sense and breakdowns can be explained away.
I just don't know.
Maybe we all just want heartbreak to mean something. We want it to be more than what it is, which is sorrowful.
I don't know. I sort of don't know what I am saying anymore. I'm over-intellectualizing it, which I am wont to do.
So I'll just let it go, now, like a balloon, and it will float up higher and higher until it bursts and whatever poison was inside it will just dissipate into the atmosphere.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Monday, November 2, 2009
when you fall
Sometimes I think about Jacob's dad. I think about the fact that he is dead and I didn't go to his funeral, so he doesn't seem dead. He just seems like one of those people I don't see very often but who exists in the amorphous periphery of my life. But then I realize that he really is dead, as dead as my relationship with my once best-friend.
And that makes me feel sick. Sometimes I miss Jacob. Sometimes I'm angry with him for forcing my hand.
He called me the other day, from a number I didn't recognize. He told me he had just dropped off some of my things on my front porch and it was starting to rain. He didn't want them to get wet. He didn't say his name. It was so strange. I bawled after I hung up the phone with him. It was too much.
Sometimes I hate him for being lovely in some ways. That is the worst part of being done: remembering the good things, and the subsequent game of remembering the bad as an anchor in reality, the reality of letting die what needs to die so that what needs to live can live.
Today, on Prednisone day 7, I just miss him. I feel like there is a hole in my heart. I know it's a side effect of the drugs that has me feeling this way, but I feel it all the same.
Today I am weak.
Also, the absolute last thing I want to do right now is go to class, and yet, here I go.
And that makes me feel sick. Sometimes I miss Jacob. Sometimes I'm angry with him for forcing my hand.
He called me the other day, from a number I didn't recognize. He told me he had just dropped off some of my things on my front porch and it was starting to rain. He didn't want them to get wet. He didn't say his name. It was so strange. I bawled after I hung up the phone with him. It was too much.
Sometimes I hate him for being lovely in some ways. That is the worst part of being done: remembering the good things, and the subsequent game of remembering the bad as an anchor in reality, the reality of letting die what needs to die so that what needs to live can live.
Today, on Prednisone day 7, I just miss him. I feel like there is a hole in my heart. I know it's a side effect of the drugs that has me feeling this way, but I feel it all the same.
Today I am weak.
Also, the absolute last thing I want to do right now is go to class, and yet, here I go.
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