I’d like to wish all my Canadian readers a happy thanksgiving. I like this holiday. It’s nice to have the family get-together without the attendant bullshit of Christmas. Too bad that I have to work this year and will be spending it alone. These things happen. And, as I always like to tell myself when I’m down: At least it’s not Stalingrad.

And you’re very lucky. Every so often I feel that I’ve done enough grumpy posts to earn myself the right to some feel-good Oprah bullshit. And this is one of those times. So let me just cash in some of those cynic chips and tell you about what I’m grateful for this time around.

The genocide that made this land ours. No, wait. I don’t want to start with that. Let me try again. The millions of dead turkeys who . . . Okay. Fuck. Deep breath, clear throat, one more shot: I’m grateful for my friends. They’re all good people and I have no idea how they put up with me. I like them very much.

Okay, that was easy enough.

I’m also grateful that when the wheels fell off with X and I that they didn’t fall off — for very long, at least — with me. I’m really fucking grateful that I somehow found it in myself to straighten up. I don’t know how. I wish that it pointed to some quality of character, doing the right thing in a crisis or whatever, but sometimes these things are just dumb luck. You never really know how you’re going to react. Just as easy, I could be throwing up on the street tonight like the two people I saw on the way home. Just as easy. I’m happy I’m not.

I’m grateful that no friends or family died in the past year. That doesn’t mean they won’t but they haven’t yet. And I know some of you fuckers are going to start dropping soon but we still have some more time. Not enough. (The universe is pretty fucking cheap about time if you ask me, but you or it didn’t, so there’s no sense whining. It doesn’t care. It will eat us all.)

And I’m grateful for my family. Auntie Vik, Uncle Avril, Auntie Brian, all of whom make me laugh — for different reasons. My cousins Melissa and Ashley, whom I never see but would like to. Distance and life keep getting in the way. My sister and exact opposite Amanda, who lives too damn far away and helps out difficult autistic kids. She had some practice on me, I’m sure. My stupid-ass parents who are in Turkey right now probably having a great time while their eldest son spends Thanksgiving alone and doesn’t even get to eat a turkey. Nan, who is a master of subtlety, and always gives me books that were banned in her youth and twenty dollars. (I get the message, Nan. Okay? I’m not listening but I get it.) Granddad, who is not so subtle but taught me the value of a party dress and a strategically placed cake. And the lot across the pond. You’re crazy if you think I’m naming you all.

And that’s about it. Only four things out of a whole year? Shit. That kinda sucks. I guess they’re sort of big things but still . . . Out of 365 days? More than four things piss me off every hour of every one of those days. I must be forgetting some stuff but I hear the music playing. Time to leave the stage.