November 27, 2008

8:39 p.m.

Back home after the great Thanksgiving feast. John was able to come down, which made us all very happy, and I walked with Karl the perimeter of their whole property, which is MUCH huger than I thought. Even though I had to make gluten-free stuff (which doesn't really hold a candle to real stuffing), it was palatable enough and a great meal, with much laughing and banter, and Karl's best friend from Texas visiting too.

I left five-thirtyish I think, wondering suddenly why I was leaving, as it was early. I felt a little melancholy and thought I wanted to be alone thinking about everything, but there was no rush and I thought on the way home that I had cheated myself out of a portion of the company to which I am entitled on this day, in this life. Now I don't know why I left. I didn't know what to do with myself after the laundry was done, the dishes sorted out, the pellet stove fixed, and nothing in my hands to work on. What is wrong with me? Why couldn't I just stay and do nothing? Why do the visits have to be so finite; why, in the end, must I be distant? I came home and watched a movie and had a bit of leftover turkey, but now I'm crying for what reason I don't know. Why can't I fully enter into this reality for once? It's going to go by, and will I have really cherished it?

There's something about not wanting to overstay my welcome, I think, although no one has ever given me any reason to think I would. I feel like such a parasite; maybe this is a way I try to make up for it. It's all wrong, all out of balance, I know.

I have no idea how to proceed with my life.