In case anyone was wondering

I didn't do anything for Thanksgiving.

I stayed home alone and talked to no one. I got one phone call but didn't answer it. It was Martin, calling to say he hoped I was having a nice thanksgiving. He heard about my evacuees and assumed they'd still be here. I almost picked up the phone, but he hung up just before I did. It's for the best. He got to wish me a happy Thanksgiving minus the depressing aspect of actually having to talk to me.

It has rained the last 3 days. Good for the fire and the air quality. Bad for my going for a walk. I missed 14 days of walks due to the fire and weather. I haven't made up for them with any new activities, so I'd say I'm losing ground, if we're keeping score.

Days go by without much to show or much to look forward to. Sleep is my favorite, but it takes its toll. My body sometimes feels worse for all the bedrest. Sitting all day is not comfortable either. I've worn out my bony ass, even on my comfy recliner, to where I dread sitting on it.

If life is so precious a gift, why does it feel so empty and tedious? I'm only thankful for things because I'm aware of their impermanence. Grateful for things the way they are because I'm aware of how much worse they could be. Is that any way to appreciate life? At the barrel of a gun? Because you are forced to acknowledge death? For all you new age "we're co-creators" out there -- I didn't sign off on this one. I'm sending these plans back for revision. This world, reality, existence sucks!

No one is gonna miss me much. Not really. The person they thought they knew died already. This is his bitter shell continuing to hang on. Dead fruit on a dead limb of a dead tree waiting for a wind to come and knock me down. It wouldn't take much, the roots are dead, too.