Okay, so I think the key is sleep. Sleep will make everything better. And hopefully keep me from being so stupidly over-emotional and blowing innocent things up into what they aren't. So, that's the plan, to sleep a lot. And not kiss anyone. For a while, at least. And to buy a decent winter coat, because the combination of exhausted and cold is making me hyper-sensitive, and I've been unfairly crabby too often lately.

I actually ditched my afternoon responsibilities so that I could come home and nap, but I'm all fidgety, and waiting for a call from George anyway.

George is one of my favorites. I'm going home with her for Thanksgiving, apparently. One afternoon a couple of months ago, we were lying around in her backyard drinking greyhounds because we thought it would be fun to get daylight drunk. And it was. And at some point during that daylight drunk fun, she said, "Hey you! Come to my mother's house for Thanksgiving with me!" Sometimes she has a tendency to snap out orders like a tough character from a 1940s gangster movie. It's pretty great. So, I said, "If you're driving, I'll get in the car." One thing about me is that if someone offers me a ride somewhere, I'll almost always get in the car. Not strangers, obviously, but pretty much anyone else. It's a bit of an irresistible impulse. The next day, when we were sober, George wondered whether she had invited me to Thanksgiving. I told her that I was pretty sure she had. She said, "Well, you're coming!" and I said, "okay." And that was pretty much that. It will just be the two of us and her mother. What's interesting about that is that I've never met George's mother, but a couple of my friends who have met her have asked me, with uneasiness in their voices, if I really planned on going home with her for Thanksgiving. When I say yes, the response is generally, "Well, she'll probably like you." So, that's terrifying. As holidays are supposed to be, I guess.