Pie Obsession

I keep getting stuck in obsession.  I think.  Because I understand that there is a difference between thinking about something a lot and thinking about it obsessively, I find it hard to know when that line gets crossed and frankly, my life is a series of denial that anything's wrong.  The reality is that I almost bled to death due to this determination that nothing is wrong and then afterwards played it off like it was a funny story and no big deal.

So this is about pie.  It's absolutely nothing and yet I have thought about it at least 18 times in the last 24 hours and have had to fight myself not to feel bad because of PIE.  It's pie, for hell's sake.  PIE.

I am in the mood to make pie.  I have been in the mood to make pie for weeks.  Pumpkin pie.  Pecan pie.  Lemon Meringue pie. Blueberry pie.  Some kind of pudding pie I have yet to decide.  I just want to make pie.

What a perfect time of year to want to make pie!  Everyone loves homemade pie at Thanksgiving, right?  And I would take the following personally if I hadn't been complimented on my pies in the past years so many times that I feel secure my pies are delicious.  (And this confidence about the taste of my pies coming from the girl who got good grades in college and writes novels, but can still be convinced she's utterly stupid.)

I have been told that "they like store bought pies better" so I should not bring pie to dinner.  So, I don't want to go to dinner there. Maybe that seems petty, but I've been married to their son for 16 years and I am still not allowed to bring a damned pie to dinner?

I want to make pies.  I make good pies.  Who wants me for Thanksgiving?  Because I'm sure not feeling wanted.

I keep thinking I need to forget about it and do whatever I want, but I cannot stop thinking about it.  I can't stop stressing out about it.  I can't stop thinking that I want to send my family to his family for dinner, cook the pies I want to cook, and then sit on the kitchen floor crying and eating it out of the pan with a fork like the lonely fat kid who lives inside and feeds on this sort of shit.

And it's just PIE.  Could I be upset about something more insignificant?