At its worst

It's 11:30 at night - a bit later, actually - and I'm. Still. At. Work.

This monster is due tomorrow night - all 72 pages - and I'm stuck somewhere on page 54.

I know - 54! Spitting distance of the finish line, you say.

Ah, but it's 11:30 at night, and I'm easily distracted and distraught. Those 18 pages seem like having to do the whole thing from scratch, somehow.

This, friends, is procrastination at its very worst.

Well - almost its worst. The worst was waiting 'til what I thought was the last fraction of the last second of the last minute to renew my passport. That little bit of procrastination cost me $200, once the renewal fee, overnight postage (both ways) and photos were figured in. Damn passports. But "expedited" handling gets you a brand-new passport in six days, door-to-door. For the record. And for a price.

And now: Why I'm Looking Forward to Thanksgiving

My mom is going local and free-range for Thanksgiving this year. She met the grower a couple weeks ago. (Breeder? Dealer? What do you call the woman whose going to sell you the bird for your feast of roast beast?)

The turkeys, she told Mom, are already weighing in at 45 pounds (cut it in half for what you'll actually chuck into the oven - once the feathers and feet and squishy bits have been removed ... but still - a 22-pound bird in August? Color me happy and hungry).

I had a vision, upon hearing about the mega-birds, of my parents' front living room taken over by a behemoth turkey, causing the table supporting it to buckle under the sheer, savory weight. I was giddy in that contemplation.

I suggested that the woman start an adopt-a-turkey program - people could have a picture of "their" turkey and get progress reports on it in the weeks leading up to Thanksgiving. I'm not sure that actually naming the turkeys is a good idea, because I get ill at the thought of eating something that had a name (I would never have survived on a farm), but at least a weight update every couple of weeks would keep me happy.

Thanksgiving is my Christmas this year, as I had Christmas off last year. So I'm REALLY looking forward to Thanksgiving, and I need to find a Laramie host who will let me be single and pathetic at their home after my Christmas Day shift, because I did the whole solo-on-Christmas thing two years ago, and it was awful. Even Wal-Mart closes on Christmas Day, y'all, and my fridge was E-M-P-T-Y (for whatever brilliant reason, I didn't pack leftovers from Christmas Eve). All that was open was the Wendy's at the Pilot truck stop in West Laramie.

Yes - my Christmas Dinner was a junior bacon cheeseburger and a Biggie french fry. And a Frosty - it was Christmas, after all. It's so pathetic that "pathetic" is an inadequate word.

But you only do that once before you grovel and ask someone to let you take up a little bit of space on their sofa, to let you beat them at a game of Scrabble, to let you eat a little bit of their pumpkin pie on Christmas Day. You only do the solo act once.

Do it twice, well ... it's your own fault. If you have to make friends with the neighbors you never spoke to before Christmas Day, you do it. Because being alone and eating a Frosty on Christmas Day just doesn't cut ... well, anything.

Alright. I'm getting back to work. It's now 11:45. A bit later, actually. I'm. Still. At. Work.