Everything itches. And before you start…no its not lice, or anything else lice-like. I’m assuming its not the sometimes fatal rash side effects of my new mood stabilizer. That really would be the ultimate mood stabilizer though…I mean she was feeling pretty bad but look at her now…I can do anything and she doesn’t get upset. (Imagine picture of dead body being poked by vintage yard stick.)

The night of gratitude has come and gone. Family and friends and food. Lara and I created an amazing new cocktail- the ginger snap. Just ask her whats in it because I am lost already at the main ingredient (snap- some sort of grain alcohol that tastes good) plus ginger, plus lemon, plus seltzer. I guess I do remember. So if you know what snap is, and have it on hand mix those things in equal parts and add a ginger candy.

I’ve found the best ginger candy is the one with the cartoon ginger guy who is giggling as he breaks off bits of himself to eat.  Perhaps he needs a mood stabilizer. That sounds like an unlikely response to self-canibilization. Even if you are a sugar coated candy version of a root.

Our thanksgiving party ranged from 8 months to 87 years and we all had iPhones. Except the 8 month old. I mean, I gave him an iPhone but he only cared about the box. That last part was absolutely true if you substitute “set of wooden cars” for iPhone.

But from age 7- 87 (like an invisible ink book) we all had iPhones.

So we had something to talk about. I introduced the 13 year old to pet rescue. As far as I can tell she is stylish, practices violin even on holiday, and writes critical essays for fun. If she can’t peel off some time to calm the nerves of shaking turtles and fish I don’t know who can. Not me obviously. I am inventing cocktails.

It was a lovely holiday. So much food. The only real disappointment was that one of the guest dogs came really really close to killing my peeing cat. I know that would have been a downer for many of the guests but it would have solved a pretty big dilemna for Steve and I.  So right after the close call of caticide we took to the table. There were even good vegetables. Have I mentioned how good the food was. Two turkeys (deep fried and roasted) two stuffings (bagged and hand cut from Vergennes laundry baguette) squash and sweet potato and regular potato and cauliflower with cheese sauce (in a good way) and kale salad and three kinds of cranberry brightener. The only casualty other than the almost cat was the gluten free quiche which I (whoops) left in the warming drawer. The hazards of the well equipped kitchen. Some of the dishes were warmed on the fire. We remembered those.

Any time the event is an eating event I feel remarkably well prepared. I remember last year, before I gave up facebook, (that is only like one hour old that news so don’t feel bad if you are reading it here first.) I posted a picture of my beautifully set Thanksgiving table with the caption. “My whole life has been training for this moment.” Most comments interpreted that as a nod to my table setting prowess. In fact it was not. It was in reference to my eating ability.

Here I am pausing wondering if going into facebook to get a screen shot of that picture from my timeline counts as giving up facebook. What kind of break am I taking? What is my motivation for this break?

Dunno. On average I feel a lot more annoyance with the links and status updates and images that I see there than I do affection. Affection may be an unreasonably high bar until I remember that facebook is supposed to be communication between friends. I have been pretty slutty on facebook. So I don’t care what 2/3 of my friends are up to. (Of course I don’t mean YOU.) Thinking about the path in to get that picture I realize I don’t want to go there. Facebook and I are having a break. I’m sure we will get back together soon.

Goodbye links of unlikely animal friends

Goodbye pictures of your cat

Goodbye questions about getting a baby to sleep

Goodbye airport check ins pushed from foursquare.

I will miss you.

In the meantime I will have more time to scratch my itch (es.)  And if one of you wants to dig through my timeline to grab that Thanksgiving photo and email it to me that would be great.

But then again none of you will know that I have even written this, because I am not going to promote it on facebook.

Isn’t life an itch?



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Anna Rosenblum Palmer is a freelance writer based in Denver, CO. She writes about sex, parenting, cat pee, bi-polar disorder and the NFL; all things inextricably intertwined with her mental health. In her free time she teaches her boys creative swear words, seeks the last missing puzzle piece and thinks deeply about how she is not exercising. Her writing can be found on Babble, Parent.co, Great Moments in Parenting, Ravishly, Good Men Project, Sammiches and Psych Meds, Playpen, Crazy Good Parent, and YourTango. She also does a fair amount of navel gazing on her own blog at annarosenblumpalmer.com.

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