Thanksgiving is just nuts.

Once again Thanksgiving is at our throats.  I’ve been hiding in my room for weeks, but I can just imagine the heathens outside racking up grocery tabs worthy of layaway, being bombarded by a warm-up round of pre-Christmas ad campaigns around every public corner, and maybe some of the more experienced gluttons ramping up their metabolism for the smorgasbord to come.

I can’t tell you how upset I am knowing that these holidays are out in such force.  I had a dangerous brush with Halloween just last month, which I narrowly escaped, but the experience nearly gave me an ulcer.

However, thinking back on my childhood as I peek through the blinds, I seem to remember something warm and fuzzy going on in these last months of the year.  I vaguely recall learning the values of “family” and “tradition” and “raking the yard.”  Maybe I’m exaggerating the first two, but I’m fairly sure we were all related, and if you have to rake the yard before dinner every year, it’s technically a tradition.

Yes the holiday’s are here, God help us, and not an escape route in sight.  In this moment of widespread gluttony and commercial frenzy, I like to lock the door, mail order some more MREs, and take a lesson from the old school, contemplating the years blessings.

Initially, I was going to give thanks for gainful employment.  But not showing up at the docks for three weeks straight tends to curdle work relationships.  Blaming one’s absence on a completely rational fear of holidays, or leaving messages describing one's home defense measures in detail both do little to preserve one’s credibility through January.

I was next inclined to give thanks for the ready availability of food.  It seemed only right to do so since large portions of the world still struggle with rampant vegetarianism.  But unfortunately, as mentioned earlier, my MREs have gone the way of the buffalo; I was back to square one.

Annoyed, I waxed philosophical.  Surely, living in the greatest country in the world had to have some obvious perks that I could draw from.

“Free speech!” I shouted triumphantly.  But the words echoed metallically within the walls of my dark, empty studio attic.  Only some of the more astute pedestrians seemed to notice.

“Good point,” I replied.  What good is freedom of speech if you have absolutely nobody to speak to?  Disappointment settled in again.

I put down my rifle, and slouched against the wall with a sharp piece of metal to take serious stock of what I was sure were innumerable blessings.

Ammunition:  I definitely have plenty of that.  A clean criminal history:  Check! knock on wood.  That I am not a zombie:  An obvious fact considering my complete indifference to brains of late.  Health:  I am a picture of health.  Why just last Halloween I bagged a 180 pound M&M with my bare hands.

Heck, I felt better already.  All it took was a little brainstorming to come up with a few things that I could really be thankful for.  Suddenly I felt entirely optimistic about the holidays.  I smiled and took off my wig.  What was I doing all cooped up in this place anyway?  I had nothing to be afraid of.  I just need to get out into the world and share my newly discovered gratitude.  With any luck, I’ll have cured the whole town of their materialism and greed by Christmas!

I’m going to turn over a new leaf.  I’m going to get all spruced up, throw some M&M on the barbecue and invite everyone I know to a good old fashioned Thanksgiving picnic.  Heck, maybe even make some new friends. And just like that, another thing to be thankful for.