11.28.05 - 11:19 a.m.

I think that anyone who leaves less-than-a-full-cup of coffee in the pot on the morning after a long holiday weekend when everyone returns full of � oh, no, not pep. Full of brains like scrambled eggs, breathing/sloughing off pain like a mutant, evil fungus gigantica in a 1950s sci-fi movie � full of all that stuff should have his/her toe nails pulled out with fingernail clippers while being forced to listen to A Down Home Christmas with Marie Osmund. Marie Osmund, by the way, endorses a certain brand of sewing machines that embroider fabric automatically based on a digital pattern. And Cheryl Ladd endorses diamonds at some local jewelry store. I am going to make a point of avoiding both Marie Osmund's sewing machine and Cheryl Ladd's gemstones, and anything else with B-list celebrity endorsements that have nothing to do with the actual products involved. Why would I want Marie Osmund's sewing machine? Does Cheryl Ladd chose the diamonds herself? No? Hmmm. I hate our celebrity-obsessed culture. I can give crap-all about the latest aging rock/rap/punk star or "up-and-coming"pop star desperate to telegraph their idiocies to the world via the idiot-box. I'm tired of all those plastic spaces and all that tasteless excess. I am finally marrying my money and mouth and boycotting Sprawl-Mart, but I also plan to boycott celebrity endorsements.

I can't get back to work today. My brain has been scrambled in its shell. Lack of sleep + too much food and alcohol have � god, I feel like warmed-over crap, really. It's gray outside and gray inside and gray inside my head. My desk is stacked with work, but I hate it and can't begin to think about touching it. I want to tunnel out of this job and into a new one, which might involve less writing and more talking. It's time to start talking again. I want to make sure my writing counts from now on. And this office is so ugly � the brown and brown and brown + fluorescent lights and brain trim and ugly dropped ceiling tiles and craptacular cheap desk, the teeny space, the brain-dead baby-talking librarian outside my door. Brain dead isn't nice, but baby-talking is true and I hate it. Every time I hear her lower her voice to that hot, syrupy sweet mess of a babyvoice she inflicts on people, I cringe and just want to get away.

Thanksgiving was wonderful. It always is. We don't fight. We get along. We eat great food and drink great beer and wine and play Trivial Pursuit and Boggle and Park'n'Shop. Sometimes we read and/or nap. The kids play football in the street, and everyone jumps in to help with the dishes. The kids all sit around with their laptops half the time, surfing the web or playing webgames against each other. Sometimes we take walks, sometimes we go shopping. That's Thanksgiving, and it's just lovely.

IIII went shopping and spent far too much money on things that I don't need, but I also got to shop at Trader Joe's (yay!) and Crate & Barrel (double yay!) and other places unavailable in the wilds of the Appalachians. I bought: two sweaters, one blouse, one pair of pants, one framed poster of a John Waterhouse painting, two bottles of two buck chuck, hazelnuts, steel cut Irish oatmeal, a necklace, some Christmas ornaments, mixing bowls, Christmas-themed ornament plates, squarish patterned opaque cream plates, a reindeer nutcracker, chocolates, party favors for la Christmas party, paper stars to hang between the kitchen and living room, a candleholder, lentil stew, dried mushrooms, spices, and dried cantaloupe at the Hilltop Market outside that booming metropolis, Frostburg.
I did not do any sightseeing, unless pointing at the Washington monument and saying � "Hey! Washington monument!"across the Potomac after dropping my brother off at National (I refuse to use its official name. I hate that guy.) airport counts. I considered and rejected the idea of stopping at Antietam because me was very very tired at that point, and I just wanted to get home. I did stop and take pictures at the overlook at Sideling Hill, because the view is so incredible from half-way up the mountain, even in winter when the countryside is gray and brown and grayer and browner.

I'm so sad to be back home. :(

Actually, I'm not sad to be back home. I'm sad to be back at work. I need to find something better to do with my time.