Every year since I started this blog, I’ve written a Thanksgiving post. Except last year.
Last year, I was in a particularly difficult moment at Thanksgiving. Of course, those moments are the most important moments to remember to be grateful, but, evidently, I failed.
This year, things are difficult, but I’m thankful, nonetheless.
For my family. Which just rules the school. My family of origin, and my family of choice, the family I’ve created. With a ton of help.
For my friends, who are just remarkable.
For my health, which has been spotty over the last few years, but which is as good as it’s been in a few years.
For my material comfort, which, thankfully, has never really been a problem.
For my privilege. As a man. As a straight man. As a straight white man. I’d rather do without it, but given that I have it, I might as well be grateful, in addition to guilty.
For this blog, for my readers, for the women who’ve seen fit to give me what I want, to help me give them what they need, over the years.
For my mind, which is the source of 99% of my joy and 99% of my suffering.
For porn, on which, lately, I’ve relied somewhat excessively.
For podcasts and my e-reader, and my phone, all of which now constitute an effective extension of myself.
For Trump’s incompetence and narcissism, which – even as they’ve consigned us to much suffering, have saved us from much more, I suspect.
And, for November 2018. God help us all.
Happy Thanksgiving. I’ve listened to this twice today. Here’s hoping I hear it two or three more times before the day is out: