i ate oatmeal for thanksgiving dinner

I spent last Thanksgiving drinking wine and getting high (on life, of course) with two of my equally family-less friends before indulging in stuffed shells and Tofurky with a table full of also-intoxicated strangers. It was sort of a surreal experience, and a far cry from the more traditional Thanksgivings of my childhood.

This year, I worked a short shift serving coffee to generally ungrateful (in spite of the day) customers, then returned home to spend the remainder of the afternoon in the silence of absolute solitude. I was invited to several Thanksgiving dinners by friends and coworkers, but opted for isolation instead, preferring quiet reflection and quality time with my cat over awkward socializing and overindulgence.

The truth is, I’ve been feeling a little unhappy in recent days. Irritable and anxious and not like myself. And frustrated by my inability to identify the reason for my discontentment and eradicate it altogether.

I’m no stranger to this place, these emotions. They seem to come in cycles, arising unexpectedly, without warning or adequate cause, and disappearing just as suddenly after a stay of several days.

I used to believe the sadness would break me. It won’t.

So, this year I’m spending Thanksgiving alone, and I’m loving it. For the loneliness, for the solitude, and for my faith in the impermanence of emotion.

The unhappiness will pass. Eventually.

In the interim, I reserve the right to be anti-social. Or drunk, if it comes to that.