thanksgiving was successful. I got much of dinner prepped the night before (as a sidenote: if you make stuffing and refrigerate it the night before, it is going to take more than 15 minutes to get crunchy, or for that matter, heated through.), so it was fairly easy.
I was disappointed, as I am every thanksgiving, to discover, I’m really not a big fan of turkey.
in other news…
I know I really am domestic in my soul. creating anything with my hands makes me excited, and feeding my family a meal which is kick-ass, healthy, and tasty fills me with pride. a clean house is honestly somewhat thrilling to me. but at the moment, without a car, I am dealing with some serious lack of stimulus. my interests run quite a gamut, from physics to anthropology, and where is it I’m supposed to get an outlet for these interests?
granted, there’s nothing to prevent me from researching of my own accord, but I crave debate and meaningful discussion, and not just within my own mind. I need to be able to be happy without being dependent, and be happy with the things I do for their own basis, and just because they please me but… I want to share the things I’m interested in with other people. life just feels very very hollow right now. maybe Ethan and I have too much in common and it robs us of the possibility of debate. …that seems like an asinine excuse.
I don’t want other people to define me. I define myself. I define myself daily, but. more and more lately, things seem hollow, and it makes me struggle with wanting to do the things I enjoy doing. I find myself wondering who I’m trying to be. I’m afraid that I’ve finally joined Thoreau’s throngs, leading a life of quiet desperation.