Crazy Turkeys and the Running That Follows

Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays. I like many different holidays for many different reasons, but shy of Easter (which moves around too much for my liking) and Christmas (which has usurped my birthdays enough times for me to develop an unhealthy complex toward it), Thanksgiving is one of the biggest and best reasons to gather 'round with loved ones and stuff one's self silly. With tryptophan-laden turkey and garlic mashed potatoes waltzing with stuffing and green-bean casserole inside my happy tummy, to be joined by rowdy champagne and seductive fudge until the guest star pumpkin pie arrives with vanilla ice cream on his arm... a veritable party in my insides to echo the raucous laughter and warm conversations with friends and family alike.

I had a strange undertone to this year's festivities that I didn't much care for. I felt guilty because I couldn't spend the holiday with my parents, who held a Thanksgiving Dinner for themselves alone in their far off northland. No matter how much fun I was having, I couldn't shake the bitter taste in the back of my throat from trying to swallow my regrets that I couldn't be there. I love my parents (which apparently makes me something of a strange breed) and enjoy spending time with them. I miss them and try to visit when I can, but let's face it: my last abode was a 7-hour drive away from them, and I didn't move closer. One might think - based on locale - that I have tried to distance myself as far from my parents as possible, but that would be entirely off course. The simple facts line up in two areas: employment, and climate.

So despite the awesome that was the holiday, a sadness still weighs heavily on me, far outstripping the fudge or pie.

Now, with a sneeze, a blink, and a "bless you", we're heading full-tilt into December, where Christmas looms large and imposingly demanding its annual tithe in the form of a gift list. And it's run-run-run to see people, eat food, go places, get presents, wrap and send boxes... and it becomes a wild goose chase that begins with a turkey.

What happened to my summer?

New!

So, this may feel a little awkward. Like, first-kiss new-driver bad-at-public-speaking awkward. After all, this is my first post on a brand new blog.

It feels kinda... naked.

I mean, up 'till this point I was blogging on MySpace. Which not only ate a great many of my posts, but also required me to continue to log into and participate in MySpace-related stuffs. It felt odd to log in just to blog in a fairly limited place (let's face it, not everyone wants to jump through MySpace hoops to access my silly blog), and not do all the other silly things like update my status or whatnot. Not like anyone I knew was still on MySpace anyway. Well, except one guy. But perhaps like me he clings to it with the vain hopes that other people still visit MySpace, as opposed to joining Facebook or Twitter or godknowswhat is out there now.

So now I have no blog history. No "Previous Posts". No archives. No nothing.

In a sense, it's freeing. A clean slate. A new beginning. A fresh start, with no potentially incriminating melodrama from back before my head cracked open and I became an adult. But on the other hand, it feels odd. I have no idea who I'm talking to. Or is it writing to? Who are you, anyway? Why are you reading my blog? And since I'm typing this out right now, I'm talking to either a future person I don't know, a future person I do know in the present (which, by the time you read this, is the past already), or I'm just talking to myself. Augh! Paradox!

It's head-scratchy time-recursive stuff. Maybe if I think about it too hard, my brain will explode like GIR's in "Bad Rubber Piggy".

So here I am, talking to a future person and myself at the same time via text, eating almond M&M's and wondering what direction this blog will take and how and why. Mostly this is for my own thoughts, I suppose, like an online diary, but at the same time, things I don't wish to share go in my ACTUAL diary. A public diary, then? Sometimes I ask questions and opinions. So perhaps it's more a forum. But no, a forum looks like something else entirely, with members and moderators and threads. No, this is simply a blog, for whatever a blog may be.

And it's mine. Bwahahaha. All shiny and new.

Maybe it's not so awkward after all.