The Inner Turkey: Life is Gravy

My first “Happy Thanksgiving” text came at eight-thirty. Hungover or not, my first response to any inconsequential communication that awakens me before I want on a day off will always be replied with “Fuck you, Satan”. For a little holiday spirit this morning I added “I’ll be thankful when you don’t have my number anymore”.

What I hadn’t expected afterward was a hundred and seven more minutes of uninterrupted sleep. This surplus of time allowed my brain to catch up on its processing, which included an episode of Heroes, a Cole Porter album and a Claire Danes interview which had all been consumed recently. They appeared in my dream in incarnations integral to the plot, which was fine by me as I love a random dream as much as the next sot. Unfortunately this was no random dream. It was a moral dream and I very much dislike moral dreams.

The abridged version:

The time traveler said I could travel back and change any one thing I wanted from my past. I was more excited than a nerd nailing the head cheerleader. In fact, I considered going back and nailing a cheerleader myself. This was it, old heart of mine. My chance to right a wrong, right a left or right whatever turned me into the sour old bastard I had become.

Then I woke up. Not literally, but you know what I mean. I stood there before the man who would help me alter my destiny and was paralyzed. Some people would know right away what to do, saving a life or ending a bad night before it began. The rest would be confused about where to begin, which butterfly flutter to affect and wondering if it will change things for the better. I harbored those ideas too, but they were not what kept me back.

It was obvious my jump back would be an attempt to prevent one of the ones that got away from actually getting away. Only I had spent the last few years coming to terms with those mistakes and adapting to the bed I made many years ago. I learned to accept all realities, understanding everything changes constantly in an organic creation such as our world.

Were I to go back in time, what could I possibly do that would help me now? I was never going to keep a woman longer than she wanted to be with me. The few that I left would have outgrown me sooner or later.

My lovers have all moved on to better lives since me. Now I had the chance to make myself happy but at the expense of their current and possible overall happiness. Long nightmare short, I told him “Thanks, but no thanks” and decided to continue fighting through life the hard way.

When I rose at eight-thirty I thought to myself, What is there to be thankful for? The thousand blessings upon my back have dwindled to six or seven.

When I rose at ten-seventeen I knew something had changed. It was the first time I had seen my life so objectively as the naked, vulnerable substance it is. I made the good choice, which is not unusual but never had so much been on the line.

I grabbed the phone and texted a Happy Thanksgiving back. I was thankful the sleep assassin had shaken loose this afterschool special for me to chew on along with breakfast. I was thankful for the breakfast itself and everyone over the last thirty years, including those I have loved and lost, that had a hand in my reaching this meal in one relatively sane, healthy piece.

Tonight I raise a Boddingtons to everyone in my life past and present, to your health and the health of all you love. To say I was thankful would be an understated injustice to your infinite love and patience. I live this life the hard way for you.