When I get home, I feed the cats some treats and make a ham sandwich for myself. The emails from that man are weighing heavily on my mind. I suppose I should respond because I’m starting to feel rude in ignoring him. I send him a brief email saying I can’t meet with him before Thanksgiving and leave it at that. He immediately emails back and asks if we can meet on Friday instead. I have hunch I’ll be spending Thursday night at Rembrandt’s as well as Wednesday night—our first two-nighter!—and I don’t want a time constraint on Friday. Then again, it’s a good excuse if I need one to skedaddle from Rembrandt’s place if I start feeling claustrophobic. I write back to that man and say we can meet Friday afternoon and suggest Diamonds Coffee Shoppe on Central any time after one. I’m a late riser if I don’t have to get up for work, and I don’t make appointments in the morning if I can help it. He agrees and says he can’t wait to see me on Thanksgiving. I don’t answer because I’m done with the conversation.
I eat my sandwich and check my social media. There’s not much that interests me because I’m in denial about our new president. I’m keeping myself abreast of all his insanity, of course, because it’s my civic duty, but I don’t see the point of hyperventilating over every idiotic tweet he makes. It’s something that’s always frustrated me about liberals—they’re addicted to the poutrage. There are several people on my Twitter feed who watch Morning Joe every morning and gripe about how awful he is. I always want to tell them, “No shit, he’s awful. That’s his shtick. Tell me if he says something reasonable—that would be news.” I decide it’s time to write a post, but not about Trump. My topic is going to be holidays and family. I’m still not sure I want to write about my current situation, but I have to write something.
The last month has been the worst month of my life, bar none. First, my best friend gets murdered by a crazy stalker woman who thought she was in love with me. She decided the way to get me to notice her was to get rid of the perceived competition. No, it doesn’t make sense, but that’s how she saw the situation. Then, after I started dating someone, she went after him as well with the intent to kill. Fortunately, he was able to fight her off, but unfortunately, she gouged out one of his eyes prior to being foiled.
A few weeks later, my brother-in-law was kidnapped by a delusional woman who thought they were meant to be together. She thought if she held him captive, she would be able to get him to see her point of view. Once again, it makes no sense, but she was a seriously disturbed woman.
Now, we’re coming up on Thanksgiving, and normally, I’m not a big fan of tradition and all that shit, but I’m feeling a bit wistful this year. Losing someone so close to me has made me realize that I don’t want to take my loved ones for granted. Yes, I can theoretically get together with them any time of the year, but it’s easier to do over the holidays.
I see my older sister on a semi-regular basis, but I haven’t seen my younger sister in years. She’s flying in on Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving, and staying for a week. I’m excited to have all three Liang sisters in the same place at the same time. I love my older sister who’s been like a second mom to me, but we are polar opposites in terms of our beliefs and our temperaments. Our younger sister is somewhere in between us, and she’s an efficient mediator when my older sister and I lock horns.
I write in this vein for another half hour without mentioning my current predicament. I’m not being coy for that man’s sake, but because I don’t want to air my family business in public. Yes, I blog about my life on a daily basis, but I try not to write about other people without their permission. I have made a tacit agreement with myself that my life will be an open book—to a limited extent—to my readers, but my loved ones have not made that same agreement. This isn’t my best post, but I publish it, anyway. I’d rather have something up that is pretty good than hold it back until it’s perfect because then it’ll never get published.