Thanksgiving, realized

Okay,
so this is really the thing that's going on.
I watched a cheesy movie that had all the elements--the orientalized native, The Great American Lottery trope, communication with the dead and little girls in Catholic school uniforms and a family and a dead child.
And it made me cry and there I was, on Thanksgiving night, alone and full of baked goods and crying about family issues and I remembered how he had put his arm around me in the movie theater and told me how sweet I was when I cried at a movie. I remembered how freely I could cry, laugh, sing, be, with him . . . and thought about my alienation with this new boy and how he might be an empty shell but it would never matter because he could never make me anything but a blank wall. The uselessness of matching comes crashing down on me at times, because I don't match. I don't match most situations, most people, most moods. It's really good that I don't have a bottle of whiskey right now.
But Shakira just came on the playlist, so it is time to get off my seat and boogie.