It’s Thanksgiving night, and for the last several hours I’ve been hiding away in my room, tucked under my warm covers reading a book, scrolling through social media, and searching Google. By “searching Google” I mean “looking up my medical problems and scaring the shit out of myself.” It’s been a delightful evening. Actually, it’s been a delightful day.

This morning I woke up and ate breakfast (after which the morning was over). Then this afternoon I watched the final two episodes of the FX Series Pose, which is about homosexuals and transsexuals in the late 1980s in New York City. Ugh, what a fabulous show. I cried during the last episode. All evening I’ve been thinking about the characters–their hopes, their dreams, their challenges, their fabulous wardrobes. I can’t wait for next season.

My therapist said once that when you binge watch shows and identify with the characters, that’s called a “para-social relationship.” As I understand it (after reading this slide-show about them) para-social relationships are one-sided relationships a person develops with celebrities or book, television, or movie characters and can be positive because they provide a certain amount of social and emotional stimulation without all the hard work and fear of rejection. Like, Harry Potter will only be there for you. He’ll never tell you to “go jump off a bridge, jerk.” Anyway, my therapist also said that if you, dear reader, get any benefit from what I share from my sessions with her, then this blog would be a “para-therapeutic” relationship for you. “It’s obviously not the same as actually going to therapy,” she said, “but it would be like a quarter measure.”

My therapist has this thing about measures, that is, quarter measures, half measures, and full measures. Like, let’s say you have a problem with someone and want to do something about it. A quarter measure response might be to not see them as often or simply say, “I’d like you to stop texting me when you’re drunk, Grandma.” A half measure response might be to write them a letter or have a serious come-to-Jesus meeting and say, “Just who the hell do you think you are, Beatrice?” A full-measure response, however, would sound more like, “Eff you, lady, and the horse you rode in on. I don’t ever want to see you again.” My therapist’s point being–you always have options and don’t have to go all the way in every situation, especially when going part-way will get the job done.

But back to Thanksgiving.

Late this afternoon my parents, my mom’s sister (my aunt), and I went to Cracker Barrel. This is becoming a thing in our family, going out to eat on holidays. It’s fabulous; no cooking, no dishes. Anyway, because we went later in the day, we didn’t have to wait long (just ten minutes) to get seated. Immediately, my dad started harassing our waitress. “Are there free refills? On the food, I mean.” Then my mom put a prescription bottle from Walmart on the table, and I thought, The holidays have arrived. I texted one of my friends about the bottle, and she said, “Xanax for everyone!”

“I should be so lucky,” I replied. “It’s probably something for irritable bowel.”

For dinner I had the traditional–turkey, stuffing, sweet potatoes, and cranberry sauce. It was like a deal–$11.99–and included a free drink and even a slice of pumpkin pie. And whereas it all tasted super great, I couldn’t get over the fact that the stuffing came in the shape of a tennis ball (because it was served cafeteria style, with an ice-cream scooper) and the tablespoon-sized serving of cranberry sauce came in a cup that looked like it should be used to give hospital patients their medications.

After dinner, while Dad and I were eating our respective desserts, an old lady passed by our table, and we smiled at each other. It was just the sweetest thing. Then as she kept walking, Dad pointed out that her shawl was partially tucked into the back of her pants. I guess she went to the bathroom and didn’t get everything put back together quite right. I can’t tell you how much we laughed about this. Honestly, I’m still laughing about it. Out loud.

Anyway, there we were, my whole family, cackling like hyenas, and Dad said, “I’m going to go tell her.”

“No, Ron!” Mom said. “I’ve done that before with toilet paper, and she’d be so embarrassed if a stranger said something.”

“That would be embarrassing,” I said. “And I’ve walked out with toilet paper on my shoe too.”

“No, I had it tucked into my pants,” Mom said.

And so we laughed some more.

Now I’m ready to go to bed, and my stomach’s upset. It’s been upset for months now, and–honestly–it’s not any worse than it normally is. But because I’ve been searching Google about it, I’m kind of freaking out, like, This is never going to get better. And since I’ve tried some quarter measure things like home remedies and prescriptions from my doctor (the latest prescription for a full day now), I’m thinking of trying a full measure thing like a restrictive diet or colon surgery. You know, I like to be dramatic. But something tells me to calm down, Sally, and go with a half measure. I’ll let you know how it goes.

But on today especially, I’m thankful that I at least have options.