I thought I was doing fairly alright then it got train wreck tragic. In a nutshell because it's too painful to get into: Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. I cook for a week in advance so I'm not stuck in the kitchen all day, giving me the opportunity to enjoy the company of my guests; as to them, I request nothing of them save, perhaps, booze or a very special dish if they feel so inspired.
I invite anyone with a pulse - perfect strangers and my most revered. This year was no different. In fact, quite the opposite. The guest list would be my sweetie and I, our two boys and teen gal, our eldest daughter driving from WA with her sweetie, my brother, his lady and their two kids, both my sisters and sweeties, the elder with her daughter, my tenant, one of my earliest friends from jr. high, my love brother (sounds rather kink, but no. He’s a Brother-In-Faith), a pair of friends and a neighboring family with their three kids.
Except, apparently, I had a lobotomy or something, because I forgot I am sick as fuck. There is no slutchunking way in Ancient Rome I can handle all the required cooking. I can barely pour cereal and I’m supposed to make a 30 lb. glazed turkey, garlic mashed potatoes, sweet potato crunch, sautéed garden veggies, arroz con gandules, salad, muffins and oh, 6 pies and a cheesecake? Plus gravy, amaretto whip cream and stuffing?
Did I mention I’m the lucky asshole with agoraphobia AND social anxiety disorder?
Now, before you zip over here to thump me with a fresh Gilligan, I wasn’t always this way. As a matter of fact, this time, last year, that guest list would have prompted scoffing. "Just them? That's it? Amateur."
As a result of recently being diagnosed with Chronic Fatigue Fibromyalgia, losing 50+ pounds, and feeling as attractive as a pre-chewed Mick Jagger mini-marshmallow (not to mention dealing with The Haters telling everyone the weight loss was cancer until someone saw me get lightheaded and almost pass out at the grocery store, then it became "no, she’s totally a drug addict!" [Hey Alanis, is THIS the right place to say ironic?], only fueling my desire to stay the fuck inside, well, I pretty much fucked up my favorite holiday - the one that allows me to get through the rest of the shitty ones, by being too fucking sick and terrified to even leave my fucking bedroom.
Well done.
I invite anyone with a pulse - perfect strangers and my most revered. This year was no different. In fact, quite the opposite. The guest list would be my sweetie and I, our two boys and teen gal, our eldest daughter driving from WA with her sweetie, my brother, his lady and their two kids, both my sisters and sweeties, the elder with her daughter, my tenant, one of my earliest friends from jr. high, my love brother (sounds rather kink, but no. He’s a Brother-In-Faith), a pair of friends and a neighboring family with their three kids.
Except, apparently, I had a lobotomy or something, because I forgot I am sick as fuck. There is no slutchunking way in Ancient Rome I can handle all the required cooking. I can barely pour cereal and I’m supposed to make a 30 lb. glazed turkey, garlic mashed potatoes, sweet potato crunch, sautéed garden veggies, arroz con gandules, salad, muffins and oh, 6 pies and a cheesecake? Plus gravy, amaretto whip cream and stuffing?
Did I mention I’m the lucky asshole with agoraphobia AND social anxiety disorder?
Now, before you zip over here to thump me with a fresh Gilligan, I wasn’t always this way. As a matter of fact, this time, last year, that guest list would have prompted scoffing. "Just them? That's it? Amateur."
As a result of recently being diagnosed with Chronic Fatigue Fibromyalgia, losing 50+ pounds, and feeling as attractive as a pre-chewed Mick Jagger mini-marshmallow (not to mention dealing with The Haters telling everyone the weight loss was cancer until someone saw me get lightheaded and almost pass out at the grocery store, then it became "no, she’s totally a drug addict!" [Hey Alanis, is THIS the right place to say ironic?], only fueling my desire to stay the fuck inside, well, I pretty much fucked up my favorite holiday - the one that allows me to get through the rest of the shitty ones, by being too fucking sick and terrified to even leave my fucking bedroom.
Well done.