Thanksgiving Take Away

Judging by the running commentary on Twitter, it seems that just about everyone I know has a bit of “good LORD, how am I related to these people” moments during Thanksgiving. It’s probably my Baptist upbringing (with a bit of Catholic school thrown in for good measure) that makes me feel like suffering is supposed to teach me something. And so, here are my Thanksgiving lessons.

1) I will never own a home. It’s not that I’m not “handy” in the average gay kind of way, but I’m completely inept. My mother was frustrated at my inability to figure out how to simply unscrew something. I know there’s a saying, but “lefty loosey” just sounds like a character in a Western themed porno. To my credit though, she hadn’t noticed there was a nut holding the screw in place on the other side. But still, nuts, screws, “right tighty” and my mind just starts to wander.

I also got the joy of helping her put away the planters, the outdoor furniture, the grill, and to hammer down the nails that were popping out of the deck. I had to climb up to change a light bulb and carry out boxes to take to the recycling center. I had planned for none of this. I had packed only a white with gray sleeves baseball hoodie of a thing and my fabulous double breasted, khaki H&M coat. These are not things that I care to get dirty, let alone have to remain in to drive home.

The point being that I’m just not suited for homeownership. I know there are some communities out there where they will mow the grass, clean the gutters and fix the water heaters when they break. However, I think I’m still about 40 years out before I’d qualify to live there. So, I shall remain in my tiny, cheap apartment and have the security that it isn’t my problem when this dishwasher inevitably gives out.

2) I have a ghetto berry. I was so proud of myself when I upgraded from my Special Needs Phone to my BlackBerry. I felt like my technophobic self was jumping into the 21st Century with reckless abandon. Then my sister shows up to Thanksgiving with her fancy new, WiFi capable, get actual internet and watch video, 3.2 megapixel camera BlackBerry. My poor phone (whose name is Tyrone) had to hide in my jeans pocket in shame. Tyrone does all that I need him to do, but I had a sense that I was actually with it. (Can you really be “with it” if you use the term “with it?) I had lied to myself.

3) Booze should be permitted. I know that I come from a family of tee-totallers (with one honest to God Baptist minister in the mix), but wouldn’t we all just get along a little better if we were at least a little tipsy?

4) I’ll end with just a few quick little nuggets of knowledge I’ve gleaned in the past couple of days. Giblets are disgusting and no one needs to ever have to see that, let alone touch it and sweet baby Jesus NEVER have to eat it. 11 year olds without any obvious impairment should be able to wipe their own ass without parental assistance. Dressing and stuffing are the same thing (who knew??) and people are way picky about it and will bitch about it no matter how or where it’s made. People who say they don’t like nuts will eat pecan pie. It is vital to stay in decent shape, because the downside of that is pretty ugly. Though family makes me wanna drive home just to be near a tall building to jump off of, they can also kinda be great when they share my love for playing cards and board games.

Maybe Not So Easy Steps

It usually doesn’t take long to learn that I’m kind of in love with Alanis Morissette. I’m not at all talking about the angsty music of the “Jagged Little Pill” album. That’s probably my least favorite Alanis album. I actually fell in love with her on that album’s follow up “Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie.”

The point of bringing that up is that there is a lyric from a song called “8 Easy Steps” that keeps running through my head. The song’s verses are a listing of the things she could teach someone about what we do to sabotage ourselves in our relationships and lives. (It’s actually a very upbeat and peppy song). The line I keep thinking of is “how to sabotage your fantasies by fear of success.”

I kind of feel like that’s the point I’ve reached.

I’m truly scared to make my next move. I don’t think I would have any problem walking away from the job I’m in. As you’ve read, I hate it. Granted, I’m also afraid of the financial situation and how all that would work. (Maybe I’ll wish for a benefactor for Christmas.) However, I think the thing I’m most of afraid of is actually formulating and plan and then having to stick to it.

Let’s just say that I miraculously got into a grad school somewhere (which would be one of the first successes), then I would have to deal with the financial implications and get all of that in order. Then, I would have to commit to going to school and getting myself back in an “academic” mindset. I’m really afraid that my mind is kind of shot after working here for 5 years. My job has had a way of making me not quite as sharp as I once was.

Thinking even further out, let’s just imagine that I get into a grad program and do well and actually graduate. Then what? I’m still barely formulating what I want to do with my life. What if I do all this for nothing? Will I just end up where I am right now, but with another $50k worth of student loan debt to pay off? Will it have been worth it?

I’m about to take some time off from work and I’m going to try to get as many answers to this as I can and I’m going to actually write out a visual list of goals. As another Alanis song says “the only way out is through/the faster we’re in the better.”