papat

I hope i didn't poop in anyone's punch bowl with that last one. I just think it's important to not live in oblivion, celebrating what amounts to a lie. However, I do think we can then take that knowledge and do what we will with it, whether by renaming the holiday, boycotting it or turning it into something more personal and sincere.

Myself, I spent time with friends the night before, eating and drinking and smoking and laughing and oh so much talking. I ran into my daughter, who was there with her friend ...funny to have our social engagements haphazardly intersect. At the end of the night, she went with me (as opposed to back to her mum's) and we started in on the food preparation for today, getting in some much overdue papa-daughter time.

I neglected to remember having loaned out my mixer, and not owning any pastry cutters or a food processor, my pumpkin pie obligation turned into a pumpkin custard, which was still rather tasty sans crust. Yet, whilst focused on my custard batter alchemy, i scorched a pan of gingered cranberry sauce, but thankfully, nay miraculously, no off-flavors permeated the concoction. The mushroom gravy came together with perfection, as did the mashed taters, which were both made today. The remainder of the feast was eaten at the house of my ex and her husband, with a solid half dozen kiddos in round. And then, in a quick and quasi-surreal blink of an eye, I was driving home alone with a full belly.

So, here i am now, somewhat bored and reflecting on the two previous evenings. Ennui is slowly consuming me as I take note of being the only single person at last night's shindig. I don't have but maybe a handful of single friends left these days. They're all pairing up and living in their domesticated bubbles. I, on the other hand, have somehow escaped that fate. Fortunately for my own state of mind I make good company, even in solitude, but even so, there are nights such as tonight when I would rather not be quite so alone with my thoughts, staring at these walls and admonishing myself for having not yet replastered them, or at least graced them with a more pleasant shade of paint. I worry over how depressing this all sounds, when in my mind I simply feel rather matter-of-fact about it all.

Were it tomorrow, I'd crawl under my house to clean the clogged confines of my furnace, or set myself to any of the other many tasks needing attention. But alas, it is tonight. Were I not such a drive from town, I might venture out into the night and embrace whatever adventure might cross my path. But it IS such a drive, and the coziness of home suits me tonight. I could read a book, listen to music, watch a film, clean my kitchen, get drunk or get high, yet none of those things entice me. If only I had some plaster, primer and paint ...I'd be happy to bust out my dropcloths and worklights, and exorcise the funk from these walls until the dawn light brings the morning anew.

Well, at least writing has been mildly engaging.

Tomorrow, it's me and the furnace.



sweet dreams, mes amis...