I'm here.

I got to Mom's on Thanksgiving Day, and headed to the

I don't hate writing, or posting. I hate thinking. It's not helping me. The one place I get my dander up enough to post is full of kooks who hate me and my family and my family's family that I'm not even related to, and their friends, and their friends' friends. I mean, hate in real life, as much as that is possible with an intervening Facebook group. It'd be more terrifying of course if I lived in the same town with the rest of my family. A place I now refer to as Suckville, in honor of all the people who make it suck now more than it did when our family moved there in 1966. Back then my parents had to drag me there kicking and screaming from a suburb of DC. Now it's pretty much the same, except it's mom guilting me from NYC. And now I have to gird my loins and wade into the middle of what could be an episode of 48 Hours on ID, or just a very, very isolated and tense group of people in one or two places with the curtains drawn at all times so the stalkers can't tell which one of us drives a boxy car.

I suppose if you live in a boring little suburb with no cultural center and no intellectual life whatsoever, you will find that the local entertainment isn't tv, it's gossip. Even tv is gossip. They watch tv so they can gossip about what they saw there. And now we've been on tv, so we're fed into the grinder like Kardashians. I liked it better when we just moved there and no one knew us nor cared to.