Well, this is strange.

So far everybody I've talked to today that has actually celebrated the holiday of Thanksgiving has had a craptastic day. Parents getting in their face, sibling rivalries, heck, somebody I probably haven't even talked to yet is sicker than a mental picture of Rod Stewart getting it on with your mom. (From the eating, not the mental picture.)

But my day has been okay. Woke up, ate a little breakfast, gamed all freaking day, ate the traditional dinner, watched a DVD with dad and well, now I'm here. I had a pretty good day.

So who pissed in everybody else's Cheerios?

An older male customer at work said that men grow beards for two reasons: 1. They're not getting enough sleep, or 2. They're protesting something.

It occurred to me, having the current facial hair (if it can be called that) that I might be protesting something. This isn't some external source like protesting Vietnam or legalizing pot, but maybe I'm just protesting something against myself. I've been on these kicks before, but this one's definitely hung around for much, much longer than the others. So an internal struggle might be going on, so bear with me. At least I hope that's what it is.

Sometimes I lose faith.

Not in religion, because I already don't have faith in that particular society. It doesn't hold anything for me except mysticism, wasted days and already cliched rules to live by. No, sometimes I lose faith in something much more important to me than religion.

My ability to write.

They say in the Bible that Jacob wrestled with an angel, who finally yielded to him. More often than not I feel mangled by the words I'm trying to control, surrounded by a gang of them that pummel me with sticks until everything shines away into ebony.

Today I went to one of those lovely required reading events at college, and saw people well nigh avoid me. I was not welcomed. I didn't fit in there. I see people winning awards because they're part of some hidden community that I'm never going to be a part of. Some of these "writers" have skill. Others...do not.

I'm not bitter. I just wish I belonged to the literary Illuminati around here.