On this, Canadian Thanksgiving (and no, I do not know why Canadian Thanksgiving is a month and a half before American Thanksgiving, nor do I have the inclination to even google that shit, which is weird, really, because I am always the first to google everything, guess I’m having an off day), the completely incomplete list of stuff for which I am thankful:
Heated seats. I cannot believe we considered ourselves a civilized people before these were a thing.
Finally, finally being able to hear my intuition. Getting a grasp on up, down, left, right, real.
The butt end of roast beef. Where it is super well done, and all the taste is super-nitro concentrated. Aw yeaaah.
The test caught it. And I’m ok.
Warm children. Who take up too much bed and have terrible morning breath and make my heart explode every day.
Knock on wood, but no god damn head lice.
That someone had the grapes to finally declare an end to a not good marriage. Even if it wasn’t me.
Red wine. Specifically, anything by the Australians. Who intuited that I was tired of worrying about whether or not I would have a corkscrew with me.
The friend who nearly always has a corkscrew with her.
My nieces and my nephews. That there are plural of them. That I got to watch them mix with my babies this summer. That I have seen all my sisters and my brother in the past year. That I have them all to miss.
That, after assuming it would never happen to me, I get to see what smitten looks like. That nearly every day, it’s there, looking at me as soon as I open my eyes.
Actually, everything, all of it, really.