I’m not eating any turkey today.  Neither am I spending any time with my family.  I’m home with my animals and the tv.

Last Thanksgiving was spent with my family.  In Reno.  I was bored as fuck.  I luckily had Isis with me so whenever I wanted something to do I could walk her.  I could not drink because my step-brother, who lived with my dad and step-mother at the time, was on probation; no alcohol was allowed in the house.

Before I learned that my step-brother being on probation meant no alcohol, I had bought a case of wine from Bi-Rite and had planned on bringing it to my parents’ place in Reno.  When I found out that the wine would not be welcomed I panicked.  I told my friend and neighbor, Ruby, of my plight.  She gave me some Vicodin she happened to have left over from something.

Over the long Thanksgiving weekend I hung out with my family as much as I could, I walked Isis a lot, I took Vicodin, and finally one day I walked to a 7-Eleven and bought some sort of alcoholic beverage that I could guzzle down quickly.  I was bored as fuck.  My family is fine so long as we don’t actually talk about anything of substance.

That was last year.  The year before that I met the man I dubbed Thanksgiving.  Before that I was married.  When married I had had Thanksgivings with his family, with my family, at home with friends.  Out of all of those the Thanksgivings with friends were the best.

Today I’ve caught up on television shows, spent time with my animals, and got in a minor fight with the Ex (over him being a shitty dog papa).  I’m going to spend some time with a friend and then get laid (hopefully – the guy’s never been able to properly get it up with me yet).

I’m happy because I’m doing what I want.

I swear.  True story.

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