Not alcohol-induced. No. Food. Food hangover.
I was doing fine. Just fine. Until that piece of pecan pie.
What in god's name was I thinking?
As I ate that piece of pecan pie I said, "This is probably the nail in the coffin of my Thanksgiving."
And it was.
I had survived the whole day of the party and the babysitting and the getting ready and then the party itself and I was fine, fine, fine. I got up yesterday morning absolutely enchanted with the idea that I did not have to get a turkey in the oven or coordinate the dinner and it felt as luxurious as floating down the Nile on a barge, reclining in silk.
I made a lovely breakfast with eggs and the remains of the veggie tray and a small amount of the vast amount of cheese I had purchased at the Costco for some reason, having lost my mind in there, obviously, buying bricks and cement blocks of cheese for the party and for the Thanksgiving Day celebration and I have enough cheese left here for the rest of the year and beyond, oh, maybe until my birthday which is at the end of July.
Costco is evil.
Not evil like Walmart, although they may be that too, I don't know but evil in that they trick you into buying cartloads of vast quantities of things you really do not need or even want.
So where was I? Oh yeah, breakfast yesterday which turned into lunch, actually, and then next thing you knew it was time to go to Lily's and I finally got my mother on the phone after having left her messages which she never got, of course, and she was hurt and angry and no, she did not want to come to Lily's for Thanksgiving, she didn't want to have anything to do with any of us and I don't blame her because she thought we'd all forgotten her entirely and left her to the devices of the facility and she was going to take a nap, that was it.
Sigh.
Lily and Jason had everything so under control that I wondered why it was always so hard for me. There were maybe forty-five casseroles and rolls and Jason was smoking the turkey and we sat outside and Owen entertained us while dinner finished cooking and then Hank called his grandma and she grudgingly accepted his offer to come and get her and so he did and I think she was pretty happy about that when she got there and stuff like this started happening.
Thank god for babies, right?
Lily's dinner was perfect and I ate a reasonable amount until that piece of pie pushed me over the edge of and off the cliff of reasonableness although Mother managed to eat an entire other Thanksgiving Dinner including the CHOCOLATE pecan pie with no seeming ill effects. We cleaned up some and then Mr. Moon and I took Mother home and then we came home and I was cranky and went to bed at about eight-fifteen and slept from about eight-forty-five until seven this morning which is almost a personal record.
I still feel stuffed and Mr. Moon and Jason are already back home from hunting this morning and yes, they got two deer, meat for the freezer and they're out there with knives and whatever it is they use to clean deer and I AM NOT GOING OUT THERE, no way.
I don't want to move today or cook or do one damn thing. Is there a Real Housewives of Beverly Hills marathon on because that would be about perfect.
Sigh.
I should go take a walk. There is no reasonable excuse not to. I did take a tiny walk last night with Owen and his other grandmother after supper. We were hunting for owls and Owen carried the flashlight and delighted in the shadows we cast and when we saw a man walking a labrador he opined that it was not a dog, but a coyote and that it was a baby and it had lost it's family and was very sad.
We didn't see any owls, but it was a very sweet walk and really, yes, I should go take a real one now in the daylight but that pecan pie seems to have paralyzed my legs or maybe it's not the pecan pie at all, it's just the overwhelming muchness of it all, the past three days.
I need to go to the library too. Everyone should be at the mall, right? And Walmart? If I go the backroads, perhaps I can avoid some of that crazed traffic.
Christmas.
Shee-it.
May was talking about Christmas on Wednesday night while we were getting ready for the party and I said, "I am in complete denial about Christmas and I would really like not to discuss that now."
So yes, while everyone else has lost their mind and is in the Walmart and Target and mall knocking over other patrons to get to the microfiber fleece jackets on sale for $12.99 or the DVD players or whatever the HELL it is they feel compelled to buy, I might manage to go to the library.
God knows I never need to eat again.
Ever. In this lifetime.
Do you realize we still have oysters?
And of course...cheese.
But wait. Oh god. Wait.
Thank god for the internet because since I started writing this I have discovered and WHY DIDN'T I KNOW THIS? SOMEONE IS NOT DOING THEIR JOB!!! there is a documentary of the Rolling Stones which has been playing on HBO (which I fucking have) for a week now, a WEEK! and it's going to be on today and also tonight and so yes, I have reason to live and I also discovered a video of some old footage from the eighties which is of the Stones playing with Muddy Waters and it's so cool that if humans decided to send a definition of cool into outer space so that aliens would know what cool is, this would be what they would send.
Maybe. Well, if I was in charge.
Yeah. It's long. You probably won't watch it. I don't care. I might watch it again.
And so, once again, I have been saved by the power and the glory of music and one of the best things about this video is that it was filmed at the Checkerboard Lounge in Chicago and although I've never been there, I've been to plenty of other places enough like it that I know that vibe, I know that woman carrying glasses around that Keith hugs before he goes on stage. I know what she sounds like when she says, "Baby," and it's as cool and as music as Muddy when he sings, "Baby, let me be your dog," and of course more so than when Mick sings it which is still cooler than anything I'll ever say or sing.
All right. I swear to god, I have written this sober even though it surely doesn't sound like it.
If you are new here and have no idea what my obsession with Keith Richards is about that is okay. I don't know what it's about either.
Happy Day After Thanksgiving, y'all.
Step away from the pie.
Love...Ms. Moon Who Would Be Your Dog
