Fork Me With a Spoon

So...guess what? It's Thanksgiving! Or, well, it WAS Thanksgiving today. Which means everyone sat around with families, blood or otherwise, and ate copious amounts of food for no good reason, and then gave copious amounts of thanks for the amazing things in their life. Right? Of COURSE! And afterward everyone farted strawberries and shat rainbows and glitter. Life is amazing like that.

Honestly, who among us has a non-dysfunctional family? Let he who is without sin...

Actually, though, my Thanksgiving ended up being pretty awesome, comparatively speaking. My family got along; we sat around all day watching TV and movies together, eating, and making fun of nearly everything that danced across the plasma screen. Yes, we have a massive plasma screen TV now. I'm sure it has nothing to do with our stunning goodwill toward each other. We didn't, however, make it to my grandparents' house, unfortunately. We'll be there soon, though. I miss them terribly.

There are other issues, though, that factor in to my general feeling of malaise this evening. I have even sat down and cried, fighting against the urge to snatch the silver Swiss Army Knife as my temporary salvation from pressure and frustration, as is my tried-and-true method of control. I don't deal well with pressure, it seems. I am a weakling.

My boyfriend, on the other hand, spent Thanksgiving at his friends' house. The friends that don't like me, as well they shouldn't. I'm not exactly good enough for him. But I digress, he spent his entire Thanksgiving over there, and is still there, because his dear sweet uncle showed up at his house for Thanksgiving dinner. I have problems with his uncle, just as he does. Though I've never met the man, he seems rather...nasty. Just today, he dislocated the boyfriend's shoulder. For no other reason than he was capable. So, I surely can't blame Jon for wanting to spend more time at his friends' house, the very same friends who saved him from a far worse beating from his semi-evil uncle.

However, I looked forward to the evening phone call with him the entire day long, as the frustration and the pain grew. It finally topped off when my license-less father informed me that he would, in fact, be driving himself to work tomorrow. That it would be FINE, that it was his life, and that any repercussions he would receive upon being caught were "not that bad." I know, I'm freaking out for no reason. He is an adult. But he could also go to jail, or lose his license for life. Call me crazy, but I really don't want to cart my father around forever. A year is plenty of time for such stress. But bah, it is not as if I'll ever leave this place; my life here seems set in stone because I will do nothing whatsoever to change it. Regardless, the "evening phone call" was the length of time it took for my boyfriend to get from his friends' apartment to his own. Which is, approximately, nine minutes. Most of it consisted of him reassuring me that he was never going to dump me, but that he'd accept my verdict if I decided that it was "game over." Because of my retardation last night. But we won't get into that.

I am a self-sabotaging moron.