Turkey Fatigue

After the third consecutive day of "Thanksgiving dinner", I no longer want to eat or even lay eyes on a turkey for the duration of my life. In fact, just the thought of looking at one makes me queasy. They're safe from me. I'm not going to eat another bite of that bird for quite some time. Rejoice, turkeys! One less person is out there eating your brethren. You have successfully converted me to an "anti-eating-turkey" mentality.

Father, Father

I'm more like my dad than I'd ever care to admit. We're both quiet. We're both introspective. Both excessively impatient. We have more similarities combined than I share with my mother. And yet, I'm not close to him in the least.

We used to be closer. I'm not quite sure what happened along the line that forever changed that. Ever since we made the move further up the northern Californian expanse, something happened that I can't quite put my finger on. Somewhere along the line he started working more and I started talking less. He didn't have time to kick the soccer ball in the backyard anymore and I didn't have time to bother. I was too busy being a teenager besides. Too wrapped up in my first boyfriend to care.

But now that time has come and passed and I've matured, I see clearly the veritable canyon between us. We never did talk much, but now I say maybe 10 words to him daily. And I don't have the first idea on how to go about mending it.

We're similar. So similar that I can't of anything to fix it.