November 21: Eve of Thanksgiving

On this eve of Thanksgiving, I'm a little out of sorts.  I just finished making two pecan pies.  They are in the oven as I'm sitting here, typing this post.  My daughter is playing some game on the Wii.  I'm not sure what she's doing, but it involves a lot of really ugly monsters.  She is currently kicking some striped monster's ass.

I spent the day at work putting up Christmas decorations.  It was a little tiring.  Everything turned out beautiful, but it took close to seven or so hours to attain that beauty.  When I finished, I had just enough energy to work on one or two other projects.  Nothing too taxing.  By the time 5 p.m. rolled around, I just wanted to go home, slip into a hot chocolate spiked with Bailey's Irish Cream, and contemplate with fear the 10K I'm running tomorrow morning.  Instead, I had to go to Wal-Mart to pick up a few last-minute Thanksgiving necessities, like white fudge-covered Oreos.

When I got home, my four-year-old son greeted me in his underwear at the front door.  He wanted me to watch The Cat in the Hat Knows Christmas on PBS with him.  I sat on the couch, and he climbed up my legs into my lap.  I pulled a blanket up around our necks, and we stayed that way for quite some time.

The reason I'm out of sorts is the Turkey Trot, the pies, and exhaustion.  I haven't felt this tired in a very long time.  I'm actually falling asleep in front of my iPad.  I close my eyes and doze off for a second.  When I wake up, the screen looks something like this:

wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwHEHAkl;l;bbbbbbbbbbL

Saint Marty is ready for a little rest.  Actually, Saint Marty is ready for a lot of rest.  He's going to need all the energy he can muster tomorrow morning.

Who the hell arranges their pecans in a pie like this?