Poor turkeys have nothing to give thanks for today

Over in the UK, today is Thursday. No special occasion, and I quite like that. Why do people feel a need to eat until the point of mental, physical and sartorial exhaustion? And then pass out on the couch, pants unzipped and turkey grease on their lips? Mmm. Yummy.

The thing that I like about the American holiday "Thanks"giving, is exactly that, though I shudder to think how many children describe it as Food Day. It's actually a day to be thankful for what we have, I think. Once, on a totally average day, the mister and I sat around a big table with a handful of our friends and everyone said two things that they were grateful for. It's a really fun thing to do, and I think it lets you discover more about who your friends are.

I'm thankful for my husband, my family, my health, my smile, my body, my future, my giggle, my ambition, and my heritage. I'm also thankful for cool shoes and my iPod alarm clock, but I digress.

So, it's getting progressively colder here, and it gets dark at 4pm. The cold here is really damp, not like bracing, can't-feel-my-face New York cold, but a damp cold that sits with you all day, residing in your bones, and making you wish you had a fire to jump into. And when it's cold AND rainy, I swear I end up smelling like "wet dog" (thanks to my wool coat and usually running out the door without an umbrella).

I'm getting progressively warmer on the job front, which is exciting. I've given up trying to force myself to take the handful of job offers that I've gotten. It's pointless if I don't pick the exact right thing. No dream job exists, I'm aware of that, but I have to be able to "feel" it. Trust my instincts. Know that in 6 months' time, I won't be cringing every time the girl next to me laughs. I also don't want any recruitment companies to shove me into a company somewhere just because they have to make their fees off of me. I have no patience for that.

All I can do is wait and see. And pretend that the TV perched on a cardboard box in our unfurnished living room is actually a roaring fire.