Gearing Up For Thanksgiving at the Asylum

Lo I have retreated to the depths of hell and faced the sulfurous breath of the great demon himself, handed him a curiously strong mint and emerged tempered by the eternal fires. And now it's time to cook dinner for the following cast:
1. Logarrhea afflicted mother-in-law
2. Emerging-from-catatonic-fugue state father
3. Recently burned friend
4. Hopelessly confused and lethargic undecided husband
5. Assorted ferile children
6. Zen like mother and almost step-father (both black belts)
7. Emotionally needy mastiff

A drunk woman called me tonight. She'd found my number by calling the operator and asking for my father. Once, I recieved mail addressed to my paternal grandmother who died when I was but a wee ovum. My therapist told me that I am an earth mother and attract people who need nurturing. Really, I think all roads to insanity end here. But that's ok. WHat I learned in hell is this: Make peace with yourself. You are truly only resposible for what goes on inside your own soul. When you're ok, and you can look around the Thanksgiving table unconditionally, peacefully, grateful for the motley crew assembled before you, then you can really start to live.