Happy Thanksgiving... or Not
Well, I hope everyone enjoyed their Thanksgiving. I sure as hell didn't.
This morning, I woke up and in no less than twenty minutes, everyone was already in my face about something, yelling, shouting. They still don't know that nothing pisses me off more in the morning than obnoxiously loud sounds. Sure, I woke up around twelve, but surprise, surprise, my asshole brother decided to bang obnoxiously on my door as I was sleeping once again, waking me up sometime earlier than that.
And they wonder why I get so pissed off. Here's a tip: just fucking leave me alone.
After lunch I pretended to be asleep so I wouldn't have to deal with anything, though in the process of doing so I actually did fall asleep for a couple of hours. When I woke I saw that the sun had gone away, which didn't seem inappropriate at all. I looked at the clock and kept thinking to myself that my cousins would have arrived around that time. That is, if they were actually coming this year. But no, my cousins' grandmother is immobile so they had to go to her apartment in Chinatown, and my other cousins' father was too lazy to drive. Then my brother is on call so my family can't leave for anywhere either.
I therefore spent Thanksgiving alone this year. Whereas everyone else is celebrating with their families from around the area or around the country, I did nothing but eat.
And I wanted to be grateful. I wanted to be grateful for all the food, for the potatoes, the soup, the stuffing, the golden turkey. I wanted to be grateful for the home I live in, the safe environment that has allowed me to thrive. I wanted to be grateful for all my good fortune, for all the bad things that didn't happen. I wanted to be grateful for having a family.
But the truth is, I can't be grateful. The turkey could have been bland, my home could have been a shack, I could have lost my legs, and I wouldn't care. But when your own family can't sit down and appreciate life and each other, everything becomes meaningless.
And instead of being grateful today, I was angry and jealous. Angry at my cousins' mother for ruining our Thanksgiving plans, angry at my other cousins' father for being too goddamn lazy to drive, angry at my own family for not giving a damn about my feelings, about my life that they can never hope to understand. And I was jealous. Jealous of anyone else who had a family, or at least people to spend the holiday with. Jealous of those with not much food to serve, forced to share their measly meal but nonetheless happy to do so. Jealous of those shivering, but huddled about each other and sharing a fire in the cold. Jealous of everyone else.
And I wanted to hurl myself among the ranks of those wandering bums, those estranged children, those exiled members of society, those with no place to call home, with no people to call friends or family. But as I examined myself I became so disgusted that I decided that even they were too dignified for my stature.
This morning, I woke up and in no less than twenty minutes, everyone was already in my face about something, yelling, shouting. They still don't know that nothing pisses me off more in the morning than obnoxiously loud sounds. Sure, I woke up around twelve, but surprise, surprise, my asshole brother decided to bang obnoxiously on my door as I was sleeping once again, waking me up sometime earlier than that.
And they wonder why I get so pissed off. Here's a tip: just fucking leave me alone.
After lunch I pretended to be asleep so I wouldn't have to deal with anything, though in the process of doing so I actually did fall asleep for a couple of hours. When I woke I saw that the sun had gone away, which didn't seem inappropriate at all. I looked at the clock and kept thinking to myself that my cousins would have arrived around that time. That is, if they were actually coming this year. But no, my cousins' grandmother is immobile so they had to go to her apartment in Chinatown, and my other cousins' father was too lazy to drive. Then my brother is on call so my family can't leave for anywhere either.
I therefore spent Thanksgiving alone this year. Whereas everyone else is celebrating with their families from around the area or around the country, I did nothing but eat.
And I wanted to be grateful. I wanted to be grateful for all the food, for the potatoes, the soup, the stuffing, the golden turkey. I wanted to be grateful for the home I live in, the safe environment that has allowed me to thrive. I wanted to be grateful for all my good fortune, for all the bad things that didn't happen. I wanted to be grateful for having a family.
But the truth is, I can't be grateful. The turkey could have been bland, my home could have been a shack, I could have lost my legs, and I wouldn't care. But when your own family can't sit down and appreciate life and each other, everything becomes meaningless.
And instead of being grateful today, I was angry and jealous. Angry at my cousins' mother for ruining our Thanksgiving plans, angry at my other cousins' father for being too goddamn lazy to drive, angry at my own family for not giving a damn about my feelings, about my life that they can never hope to understand. And I was jealous. Jealous of anyone else who had a family, or at least people to spend the holiday with. Jealous of those with not much food to serve, forced to share their measly meal but nonetheless happy to do so. Jealous of those shivering, but huddled about each other and sharing a fire in the cold. Jealous of everyone else.
And I wanted to hurl myself among the ranks of those wandering bums, those estranged children, those exiled members of society, those with no place to call home, with no people to call friends or family. But as I examined myself I became so disgusted that I decided that even they were too dignified for my stature.
prism:
sunshine (daily rants)
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