The Big Psych-Up

This wasn't a terrible weekend.  It wasn't great, but it also wasn't disastrous.  On Saturday evening, I got to meet my best friend for our weekly coffee (or in my case, a skinny hot chocolate) while my husband took care of the Kiddo.  Yesterday was church AND spaghetti day, which always makes for a good combo.  And last night I finished Lolita and started on Elizabeth Gilbert's The Signature of All Things.  That's a pretty good start to the week.  Also, most of my Thanksgiving dinner shopping is done (aside from picking up -- uncooked -- Tom Turkey on Wednesday morning at Whole Foods.)

So why am I just not feeling Thanksgiving yet this year?  Don't even get me started on Christmas decorations and music (with this one exception.)  Don't get me wrong.  I'm thankful.  I have a lot to be thankful for, but as far as the usual traditions go, I am all out of steam before I even start.  Usually, I am chomping at the bit to start cooking for Thursday.  This is my favorite holiday, and I look forward all year to cooking this one meal.  Admittedly, the Celiac diagnosis from nearly two years ago has taken some of the fun out of cooking and baking in general, and this carries over to holiday meals as well.  But we managed last year without any trouble.  Maybe some of it is my continued poor health.  It is discouraging, disheartening, and seemingly never-ending.

It's certainly not my little girl who is already chattering about turkey and mashed potatoes and the Macy's parade on tv and setting up the Christmas tree.  I'm hoping that her excitement will overwhelm me come Thursday and kick my ass into gear.  Tomorrow is their Thanksgiving feast at preschool, and Kiddo is so excited.  I wish I could be the proverbial (and mega-cliched) fly on the wall during that little shindig.  Wednesday evening we'll probably go to the Thanksgiving devotional at church, which is always good for getting me in the right frame of mind.  I'm sure I'll rally.

In the meantime, I have writing to do, housework to plow through, and reading to squeeze in between.  This brisk morning (not as brisk as it's been, but brisk nevertheless), I broke out the sherpa blanket, the shearling boots, and the British Breakfast tea (because Earl Gray just wasn't going to cut it.)  Now that I'm toasty warm from nose to toe, it's time to get down to work.  I've got editing to do and maybe even some straight up new material to write.  It's going to be a good morning.  Or at least a highly caffeinated one.