This is the third consecutive Thanksgiving I’ve spent alone. I’m not sure how to feel about that.
It throws my social isolation into sharp relief, as though it weren’t plain enough already. I would feel better if my reclusion were intentional, if I were a hermit monk available only by appointment, and only after a grueling trek through inhospitable mountains.
But I am enjoying four days, all in a row, with no need to leave the house or interact with others, aside from Gremlin. This morning I fed her Whiskas Turkey & Giblets. Approximately thirty minutes later she threw up her seasonally-appropriate meal, managing to get it on two blankets and — a first — me.