Brother Ray wakes early at Todd’s house to depart by 8am for his long drive back to Ohio. At about the same time, John departs my parents’ house with his family onward to cousin Jeff in Connecticut. Lee drives me back to my parents’ house after a leisurely pancake breakfast. After a chat with my folks, Lee departs for Boston.
Thanksgiving concludes. The house slows down with just me, my parents, and my older brother. I can’t shake a hangover headache. Floor sleeping has bruised my sides. Although grateful for the new quiet after four days of socializing, I have little (nothing) to do anymore at my parents’ house. I catch up on this journal and write some computer software.
My mother makes conversation over a slow dinner of leftovers. I’m not hungry and the remaining lamb chops look grizzly weird in the light of post-Thanksgiving day. Why do I have to be so difficult? I wish I could fly back this afternoon to San Francisco and leave the little life left here.
No one asks about Greg and any particulars of my life. Differences are discouraged. In a sour mood, I tell myself that I will never again stay a night in this house. I find odd that I make such effort to come east to an indifferent house while no one visits me in California. We’re a strange family, me included.