Happy Thanksgiving from pinklightsabre.com!

I don’t know if I was sick or what but I couldn’t stop feeling cold, so I had a bath even though I’d showered earlier, and when I got in I reached for a cloth but it didn’t seem clean, I checked the tag (it said “auto cloth”) and wondered if the skid marks were from oil sticks or dusting the kids’ rooms when we painted last August, and held it underwater for a while then decided I didn’t care, put it on my face, and slid back.

This time of year we all look pale and puffy, waterlogged, my arms feeling frail, I stopped working out but feel like I’m getting stronger, and that feels good.

I looked at the areas I caulked around the bathtub that were splitting, thought about the moment we all have right before we die, the one we get to decide if we’re really ready to go, if we’ve had enough—and for a moment I hoped I could feel that way every day, if I could remember to.

I thought about my Cajun friend Myki, how he and my stepdad were born the same day, and because Myki studied numerology they were “3” people, he said: he really emphasized that, the way things lined up as a 3 person, he laid that over the Zodiac and some other stuff but I couldn’t hear him, I could only watch.

And my aunt: I texted her and she wrote back, she’d just tried to call but couldn’t get through — and we hadn’t talked since July, so she claimed that made her psychic and I said, why not me?

The fact Myki wore coats and scarves with fingerless gloves to show off his rings (he wore them in the year much longer than he needed), the feathers he’d find and fit into his broad-rimmed hats.

Dawn getting involved in organizing the church project to help the homeless by doing some activity together, and a mild skirmish between key figures in the congregation and the pastor, who’s unrelenting on the project, who insists they should be making nativity scenes even though the homeless say they want gingerbread houses, rationalizes they’re pretty much the same construction and it’s still OK to gaudy them up with candy, just know the nativity scene is more Christian, for obvious reasons.

The cat put something on the doorstep I thought was a used tampon but it’s a headless mouse: and now the sun is dipping down for good, it’s not yet 3, it goes down without much of a cry, this time of year.

Categories: writing

Tags: dark humor, headless mouse, humor, numerology, pacific northwest, poem for Thanksgiving, stream-of-consciousness