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A new day. A new life continues.

The week of Thanksgiving.  Wow!  This is the first thanksgiving either one of us have ever had.  A for real Thanksgiving that is.  Xena is all a flutter, as she says.

"I'm all a flutter."  She pats her chest like it's fluttering.  She skips around the apartment, singing made up songs about turkeys, pies, and football games on Thursday.  Then she started decorating.  We have kindergarten-like turkeys on the windows, hanging from the doors, and even on the refrigerator.  It's like living with a 5 year old some times.

We've been still going to the schools.  Like we're real students.  Real people, real kids.   But with totally different life and family styles than any one we've met at the schools.  Xena's been connecting with some of her classmates from her drama and music classes.  Three seem to be important and have been over.  I think they must be goths, but they talk regular like and seem regular like and act regular like except for the black clothes and make up.  Even Tyler, the boy, has make up like Jessie and Chrissie, the girls.  All black, even their hair, two thin (Tyler and Chrissie) and kind of heavy, Jessie. 

All three have been together at school every day at lunch, and before and after classes.  They travel in a pack.  Xena calls them a family.  Tyler and Jessie are sibs.  Xena's word.  Chrissie is just Chrissie.  They don't seem to have to be anywhere, ever, and are true free spirits, again, according to Xena. 

They let me hang out with them.

Xena has take on the roll of leader of the pack.  Her description.  I follow when I want to. Which is sometimes.  I keep waiting for the "family" to coalesce and develop into even something more.  I'll wait.

Xena left last Friday and returned Sunday.  It was one of her periodical adventures she undertakes.  She left Rosie here with me.  Rosie wasn't too happy but didn't complain too much.  She did turn her hair jet black while Xena was gone though.  Xena slept all Sunday afternoon and night after she returned. 

"Don't ask," she said when she reappeared Sunday.  She had a back pack filled with stacks of money that she left on the table in the kitchen area.  Then she had "crashed" in her bedroom.  Monday morning, yesterday, she was up and cheerful and left for school, told me to find my own way for once, and showed up at school 2nd hour without the backpack.

"Don't ask," she said when we met between classes.

Oh well.