So I’m the turkey.

The prez gave all university employees the okay to leave at 14:00, but I have to stay until closing. It’s an easy workday, though. It’s just me and a student at the helm, and a mere handful of patrons scattered throughout the building, mostly email-checkers, but there are some panicked students who are attempting to hand in assignments before the break. Their little faces are pale and their hands open and close as if grasping at invisible source material.

The café is already closed, so no latte for me. Good thing I had instant coffee this morning! Except for not.

The ferry was packed with commuters skipping out early. I’m so used to commuting alone that the overwhelming aggression and disdain for fellow human beings actually caught me off guard. As I took my headphones off, someone told me to watch his briefcase while he wandered off – told me, not asked me, as in, “Watch my briefcase.” I didn’t respond, and continued reading my book. See, we can both be jerks to each other! Happy fucking holidays.

For those of you traveling the 101 through Marin, both sides are a disaster area, so add 45-60 minutes onto your travel time. Also, you might want to attach a blowdart gun to your vehicle, because I hear that shooting out tires is a great way to immobilize dorky drivers. I mean, after they go swerving and careening into other cars. Okay, so that’s a bad idea. Just throw rotten oranges. Aim for moonroofs.

I don’t know why I’m writing, except that I’m sad. I shouldn’t be sad; I should be excited about Thanksgiving. The MSG is planning lots of cooking stuff with my family members via email, and generally kicking ass. My family members are, of course, impressed with him and saying so. They’re also reminding me rather ungently in private emails about how much I suck in the kitchen. Mentions have been made of the jello salad incident. I love my family, but I really don’t need this from them. It’s already taken me quite a bit of pride-swallowing to venture back into the realm of cooking. And now I truly enjoy cooking with the MSG, even by myself sometimes, and I don’t suck. Compared to the MSG’s, my recipes and my skills are primitive, perhaps even uncreative, but what the fuck? I’m learning later than everyone else did. I wish people would get off my fucking back about it. And while they’re getting off my fucking back about that, they can get off my fucking back about everything else I have ever fucked up, too.

Sometimes I get a little weary of being the butt of every single family joke. But if I stop laughing, then I’m “taking it too seriously”. If that’s not my absolute favorite phrase in the English language, I don’t know what is.

Ah well. I’m going to try and escape for dinner with a friend in a few hours, which should cheer me up. Then I’ll go home tonight and snuggle Zen. She never makes fun of me and she’s never disappointed in me, either. To her, I am merely a set of hands and a lap. That’s fine by me.

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I acknowledge that I live and work on stolen Cowlitz, Clackamas, Atfalati, and Kalapuya land.
I give respect and reverence to those who came before me.