r. is sick. i'm sorry r. we don't like the impending american holy day gluttony much anyway, and i may be glad for the excuse to not witness another pig and turkey slaughtered on the groaning table and the opportunity to delve into the beautiful thoreau biography that awaits me. i just finished the inner life of animals and maybe this will be my lucky thoreau holy day. 
i feel bad i am not there caring for r. and lucky i'm not ill, though who knows what i may be incubating. i think last year we both hibernated sickly on the turkey holocaust. we are not animal eaters so we won't be sparing life, or we will but not as a personal sacrifice, but we won't at least be witnessing animal death on the familial platter. 
when i'm sick i just want a good book, unless i'm too sick even for words, and then i just want to like a little animal crawl under cover and wait for death. hey, it's melodrama, but it's true to life.  
i am sad but kind of grateful. i only really look forward to the winter solstice, that's my day, and to the slowly waxing light.