Thanksgiving Infection

Thanksgiving day with the sun battling hard against the slumping gray belly of sky. A few spits of drizzle slick the streets as Taosenos dream of plump sugary snow fairies still asleep in old leather valises piled over with pilled sweaters. My food is cooked...for a gathering of friends down the street, down a hill, in a thicket of old-time trees. My antibiotic is killing the infection up the root of my wisdom tooth, lodged near my jaw flexor, streaming pounding messages up into my ear, my temple, my eye socket and cheek bone. And it's killing any motivation for being sociable. But I gotta go. It's getting late. It'll be dark in a few hours. I'll say what I'm thankful for. It's a lot, I know, but I'm going through something right now. A meditation would be nice. A thought sorter for Christmas would be great. I want to be in touch with the world, and then, again, do I? Why not tomorrow? I have a story to tell about this latest medical system interaction, but I don't have the edge. Maybe I sit down for 30 and it'll all be better, eh? Maybe I get the love out to all sentient beings, and a few peeps from Jersey and Brooklyn, too? Ahhhh, books to read, soups to spoon, early mornings to feel an ocean of possibility. But, time to eat and commune. I'll write something tonight...this is what I got right now, alright? Alright.