Thanksgiving

Now, upon seeing that no one knows each other's birthday or anything of the like, the whole concept of this particular turkey day is just shot out of the water.
I know Brianne's own grandpa's birthdate, where he grew up, and the sports he played in high school.
Shoot, I don't know that about my own grandpa.
Hell, he's in prison.
Enough for comic relief though, I'm more interested in the finer, more lurid aspect of what I'm getting at (and am I not always a bit dreary?)
Well, if I'm asking for myself to make a point, I suppose I cannot really find one.
"Oh, he likes you."
"Oh, he doesn't even know me."
"Oh, you're not the kind of person you have to know to like."
"Oh, see you later."
"Oh, I had a bad day."
Laying down, gosh, the times I've seen you naked.
But if we're talking reality, no, I never saw you without your clothes.
It's so cliche and boring to hear about, but I love it when you play guitar.
Everything is a cliche, isn't it?
So much for the scheduled paintballing together on Wednesday morning. That's come and it's passed, and I'm sure we won't really talk about it in serious again.
If we do though, I'll kick your ass.

Oh, here's a fun one: monogamy! Marriage!
Clearly, that means nothing to poor ****y because after all the kids and his wife and the job he has to have, he still puts it all on the line for his (much) younger girlfriend, though she probably wouldn't appreciate being dubbed as so.
Of course, I'm not defiling their emotional devotion to one another, girlfriend and Y, but can there be an emotional devotion?
I wouldn't know.

As for here, well, I'm sitting in a double wide, badly remodeled, with pig slop sitting out on the table for everyone, and I honestly couldn't tell you much of the person who made it.
Blood links us together, so we're supposed to be thankful together, and sometimes, I wish that I cared.
Perhaps that deems me a bad person, but I don't.
Sure, I'm thankful for some of the people there.
I appreciate my sister, and brother and his wife.
I'm going on yet again, would you look at that.

So really, here's a rant and a rave of the daily life I have yet to master.
And who am I kidding?

Perhaps, stuck in the corner and crammed under the coffee table, there is that one little part that we forgot that makes up the pieces that we are, and that when others ask, we simply have no answer.
Maybe we've only merely forgotten. Maybe it doesn't exist.


Off to another stanza...