You know, I was actually not feeling even slightly bad about the holiday consisting of me and Cujo and a great recipe for lasagna. I would have made turkey but an entire turkey dinner for one on Thanksgiving is even more depressing than going to a diner alone for Thanksgiving dinner. Believe me, I've done both and it's better to just cook something you haven't had in a while and enjoy the fact that the city is for all intents and purposes empty. You don't even have to obey the traffic signals because traffic is so light. It's anarchy I tell ya'!
So Riley and I had finished running and playing catch in the park on the grass that we're normally not allowed on and I had a free hour. I decided to take in a Gay-A meeting. Not that I was feeling particularly needy, I just thought it would be nice to check in and see who was there, and maybe get some inspiration for the rest of the day. As it turns out, the only thing my fellow lonely alcoholics inspired in me was a desire to off myself as violently and quickly as possible.
From the speaker who, when he wasn't speaking in a stupor inducing monotone, was relating how he's retired at 59 years old and living on a pension. And all he does every day, every day, is attend three or four AA meetings.
Then the Cat Lady spoke about how much she loves cats, and about how horribly depressed she was when her cat died, and about how now she has another cat and she's not depressed. But she worries about the cat because he has an eating disorder. And she spends an inordinate amount of time obsessing about her cat because she's worried she isn't forming a meaningful connection with her cat and JESUS CHRIST SOMEONE PUT A BULLET IN ME!
Then the homeless guy in the curiously over-sized vest piped up about how he is homeless with no job, but spent this Thanksgiving like he did every other holiday, sitting in a Starbucks writing a letter. The thing is, this is a rather extensive letter that apparently is multiple pages, front and back, that curiously he composes without knowing who it is going to be for. Apparently, that is revealed at a later time, along with hidden messages to himself that his "higher power" manages to slip past his tin foil hat and into his brain. All of this was told in a rather frightening monotone as well, until he he finally trailed off, laughing at a joke that wasn't particularly funny. By then he looked to me like the evil preacher that tried to kidnap Carol-Anne in Poltergeist.
I couldn't get out of there fast enough. I practically ran home (I also had to pee) and happily started putting together what turned out to be an outrageously good pan of lasagna, all the while trading texts with my niece, that made me feel a little bit like I was actually home where I would have been if I had two nickles to rub together.
But at least I had good food, a happy dog (with an eat everything disorder), and no desire to sit in a Starbucks and compose letters to no one. Not counting this one.
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