Cold Vegan Meatloaf

I never used to get depressed at holidays, but if this last year is anything to go by, that's changed. There was nothing really wrong about today - I went to a friend's dinner party. The food was good; someone I know and usually like made a not-terribly-nice joke at my expense, but other than that, there wasn't anything especially wrong.

And yet, I left feeling vaguely grumpy and wishing for...

Well, I think I was wishing for Boywich. And maybe this is why holidays make me sad. I don't know if it's specifically him I am missing, or if it's just that feeling of belonging to somebody. Our house was a magnet for something, even though moving in with him wasn't the best idea I ever had.

Years later, gone from there a long time and living a completely different lifestyle, I feel like I'm on a magic carpet in mid-air, only not fun like that sounds. I feel like I'm dangling when I ought to be grounded.

It's not very comfortable.

Maybe it was because most of the people there today were married. My one single female friend left early - perhaps because she wasn't necessarily having the greatest time, either, though she made a good show of it if that was the case.

I kept falling asleep sitting up. I think I just wanted to be elsewhere, and my body was prepared to take me there, even before I left.

When I got home it was immediately apparent that wherever elsewhere was, it wasn't my apartment. So I got on my bike and took off. I rode through cool air and deserted streets, and thought, this might be my one true love. It might not be a person at all. It might be this simple, two-wheeled, me-powered machine.

While I was riding I was relatively happy, except for that one moment when the stupid men standing in the middle of the bike lane responded to my friendly "heads up" with a nasty retort, and I wanted to turn around and shove them, bodily, with my fist, out of the bike lane and then give them a lecture about being courteous to people who are simply trying to make sure they don't back into oncoming traffic and get hurt.

Instead of doing that, I took a different route home so I wouldn't have to see them again.

I came home and swatched some sportweight, and discovered that there really isn't enough of it to make a whole sweater (and it's not anything I can get more of), so I read Barbara Walker's thoughts on sleeveless sweaters that can have set-in sleeves added later and came up against the usual invisible/provisional cast-on barrier, and closed the book and put down the yarn and wondered how I could possibly rejigger the properties of matter so I can turn 750 yards into 1150.

Kitwich has no ideas on the subject. But you know, she's here.

When someone started to make noises about going around the table having everyone recite what they're thankful for, instead of falling back on my prepared speech about my cat, I flat-out refused. I said, Oh no, I'm not going to play that game.

I don't know if that killed the idea, or if it was only ever a joking suggestion, but in the end I didn't have to lie. I don't like being prodded to emote, especially to emote some kind of greeting-card tripe. It's all well and good to be able to appreciate the little things in your life, but it should be spontaneous, and if you're having a bad day, or a bad year for that matter, people at dinner parties should just let you be the way you are, and not try and force you to be something else because it makes them more comfortable.

I had just had an interesting conversation with my mom about this very thing - interesting because she agreed with me, and I wouldn't have expected her to. I liked being able to talk with her like that, honestly, and to have her respond in kind. It felt real. And we laughed, because for both of us, Thanksgiving is just a harvest feast, and trying to slap an emoticon on it takes the fun out of it.

It's just about the food. And by the way, I don't like pumpkin pie.