A Thanksgiving Horror Story

I like cheesecake. 

I spent Thanksgiving with my family. It was a horrid affair; I positively abhorred the whole event. I say this because my family is far too critical for my tastes. Not with me, thank God, but with people in general. If you thought I was intolerant, then you should hear them. 

"Where they went wrong is when they stopped letting kids pray in schools. That's when all that evil stuff started happening in schools, y'know."
This was the comment that started my disgust. I so very much wanted to take up for freedom from religion, but I restrained myself. After all, they are my family, after all. I should not burn bridges for the sake of a cause that cannot be achieved by me in the space of one night. I may be many things, but one thing I am not is a martyr. 

But the topic of conversation soon got progressively worse and worse... And what was bad was that they thought they were being quite tolerant about all of it! It was quite unbelievable. They would sit there at the table, bashing homosexuals and african-americans, but they would denounce harsher citiques of those same groups -- so to them, they were being quite tolerant after all. 

It was disgusting. 

So disgusting, in fact, that although they had cheesecake available to eat, I dared not get up to get myself a slice, for fear that if I moved in the least bit I would draw enough attention to myself for them to ask me my opinion on the subject. And I know that if I had been asked, I would not have lied; I would have told all of them what I think of them for saying such things, especially considering that there were children present in the very next room. Had I been asked my opinion, I likely would have never been invited to that house again, simply because of what I would have called everyone sitting at that accursed table. 

But thankfully, I said nothing. Thankfully, I simply sat there, quiet and unobtrusive, until it was time to go. 

::sigh:: Perhaps I just don't understand the concept of a family. I thought I did, long ago, but obviously I didn't. Then, later, I was almost taught what exactly a family is -- I nearly understood -- but I didn't quite. I just didn't grasp it. 

Which is it? A cake the day after Thanksgiving, or the day after Christmas Eve? Either way says something dreadfully important, even though I never considered such important in the least. But as I sit here in the near-darkness, I imagine that I am wrong, and that instead true importance lies within the bellies of such cakes, and it is celebration, not money, that makes the world go round. 

::sigh:: I hope I'm wrong. I hope that life is not just the logical beast I ascribe it to be. I hope that love serves a higher purpose, whatever that height may mean. I hope that Pandora's mistake will be rerecognized as more good than harm -- for it is hope alone that keeps me alive these days. 

::sigh:: 

I am so retarded.