Thanksgiving Eve

So, as I'm writing this, at 3:50am, I am chatting with my mother on Facebook. It's nearly 7am for her, and if the 3 hour difference isn't bad enough, I've not yet gone to bed, and she is getting up for the day. This is proof that time travel is, in fact, real. There's no other effing explanation. She lives in my 'tomorrow'. I'm in her 'yesterday'. Just something to think about.


Also, first of all, I'd like to point out that this town is remarkably boring without any students in it.


Second, the roads are effing heinous without snow tires, chains, or a reasonable level of traction on one's tires.


Had an interview for a new job as a server today, and I don't find out any more information about the job until next week. Gross. 


Not much in the way of great stories today, as I mostly just left my apartment to go to my interview, then visited some friends of mine, who own a local restaurant. While there, I met a 6' tall African-American man named Cedric, his less African-American, more intelligent wife, and a man named Josh with the most impressively shaggy mountain-man beard I have ever seen in my life. Also learned that apparently there is a booming underground market for people who want smoked turkey for Thanksgiving. Who knew? 


Spent about 2 hours there, chatting with the owners of the restaurant, listening to them play video games at work (it was that slow today), and getting a pile of leftover food that they were going to have to throw out.


All in all, a decent, if somewhat uneventful day. Mostly contemplative, and full of chores around the house and quiet time, hiding from the snow/ice/cold/gross.




PS - After walking around in the snow, I HIGHLY recommend a mug of "European Hot Chocolate". It's made with dark chocolate so it's all bitter. 


QOTD:
“I wanted a perfect ending. Now I’ve learned, the hard way, that some poems don’t rhyme, and some stories don’t have a clear beginning, middle and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what’s going to happen next. Delicious ambiguity." - Gilda Radner