Thanksgiving was dull this year. For a lot of deep-seated personal issues that burst violently to the surface a couple of years ago, our extended family no longer gathers to have a huge Thanksgiving feast. In fact, our extended family no longer really gathers at all, except at Christmas. We are required by law to appease the young’ns, despite the fact that nobody ever buys them anything they want (trust me, I was a young’n once, too—I know the look of somebody who is disappointed in his brand new sweater or her personally engraved Leatherman).
So, Thanksgiving was just me and my parents, as usual. My sister couldn’t get time off, so she didn’t even come home. Consequently, there were no fights or extended periods of food-flinging. How unfortunate.
I went out with Lucy on Wednesday night. We drove around for awhile and mostly sat in silence. It was late, I was pretty tired after having class all day, and she demanded that I stay home and sleep. I refused on the grounds that, since she decided to go home on Friday, I wouldn’t have a chance to see her again. I’m not really sure that inhaling her second-hand smoke in silence improves much on not seeing her at all, but in my own warped way, I believe it does.
I promised I’d call her on Thanksgiving to rescue her, however briefly, from her family. I didn’t call her, and I feel kinda guilty about it, even though I’m sure she didn’t care.