I’m thankful that I’m almost at story 250. I’m thankful my girlfriend helped with the pie and I’m going to get to show my cousin the record store with the old arcade games in the back.
It’s Thanksgiving, that day of rest spent complaining the world doesn’t give you time to be thankful.
In Chicago, the snowflake decorations are up on the streetlamps. Santa has been shilling on the ads for weeks and now that I’m deep in the paragraph, I realize I didn’t need to start with “In Chicago.” This could be any city in America and many in the world.
If there’s a war on Christmas, Christmas is winning. So what? I’m not going to go shopping today, tomorrow, Black Friday, Cyber Monday, Credit Debt Wednesday or Fuck The Future Tuesday Evening Around Seven. I’m thankful for that, too.
I’m full of pie; I’m glad for that. I won family Trivial Pursuit. My mom beat everyone at Scrabble. I got a lemon-powered clock and a lemon for Hanukkah. My dad introduced me to a new single malt whiskey and Aunt Mary’s dogs were adorable and well-behaved, if a bit stinky.
Despite all the shitty things I said and did as a teen and, to be frank, adult, I’ve somehow grown into a person who can legitimately say his family is an important part of his life. I’m thankful for that, too.
I’m thankful gays can marry and I can get relatively cheap health insurance and all the other new things this year has brought. I’m thankful I no longer work at a place that darkened me, that made me a worse version of who I am. I’m thankful many troubles of the past have seemed to vanish, like clouds dissolved by a passing breeze. I’m thankful the ones I still have seem like challenges now, riddles instead of weights.
I’m thankful I’m up way too late, puttering around my parents’ house thinking. I’m warm and happy and surrounded by people I love who love me right back. That’s a bit of all right.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. See you Monday for #250.
