Friday, September 29, 2006

Happy New Year

Well kids, it didn’t happen this year, so I can only wonder what January will bring. The weekend of my birthday was Yom Kippur. There was a shooting last week, a bullshit sell-out lumber deal and an uncomfortable conversation at work. I didn’t get to put up what I wanted to, a birthday wish list was one thing, with a request for you Photoshop techies out there to put Anne Coulter in a burkha and send it my way. That I think was item number two, but sadly none of it happened. This year has been about reclaiming ground, set completely in a beachhead, about recovery. There has been nothing I can claim achievement for except making it to this point which I still feel is a cop-out way of identifying landmarks on your lifeline. I survived a lot. Tony didn’t, and I would do anything to be able to see him again, to put my arms around him and remind him that survival is small and will feel small despite a tremendous effort.

I must ask forgiveness of pretty much anyone who has been around me this year. I am irritable, bitchy, aggressive, listless and uninterested. I don’t have so little of what I used to be and the anger that that has been lost at least for now gives me desperation to punish any and all around me. I cannot even properly make lists at the moment, what should I apologize for? Do I have a birthday wish list? What are the reasons for this strange man to love me? Where are the people I used to be? What are the clinical reasons for the shooter to have walked into Dawson College? Who are these windy men who talked of courtesy the day my pylons blew away?

These myriad questions and more are the only amalgamation I have been capable of lately, the only list I can compile is one of questions I can never answer and must leave behind. Wine is poured and music playing. The final query, Why bother? must come last as it is the only thing left that can fuel answers to the others. These lists are all I can come up with for a year ended, my new year’s celebration, A.D. 28 in this the year of healing. I will be me again, so next year expect something amazingly clever in September’s beginning. Just not now.

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