FUCK. THAT. SHIT.
And that pretty much sums it up. 2015 was a stellar year for cackling demon toads from the seven hells, a year renowned in infamy and pain. It pretty much sucked rancid donkey balls in hell, all long, long twelve horrid months of it. There were a few bright points – there were some concerts and art shows, lovely conversations with good friends, laughter, wine, good food, good books- hell, there was even Jurassic World – and so on – but those were grievously outweighed by all the shit that just kept right on raining down the pike. And as I sit here with my crutches beside me, with a broken left foot and a right arm that suddenly and inexplicably seems to want to stop working, I must say that 2016 seems to be carrying right on in its ugly, greasy, blood crusted footsteps.
So I have not been here since last October, when I was still worrying about skin cancer. Turns out that particular monster has at least temporarily been defeated, so that’s good. I have big old mega bills to pay for it, though, which I am afraid to even look at. Back in the day if you had insurance, you presented your card at the doctor’s office and LO, your bill was paid. No more! Now your card and your $50 copay just gets you in to see the doctor. All the many many many extra bills will be sent your way later. New times! New debts!
As I keep saying to anyone who will listen, welcome to the 21st century! Much like the 19th!
Well. In late October my good friend Elizabeth came to visit, so that was a lovely bright spot. Then in November there was Thanksgiving, at which we hosted 19 wandering souls for a dinner on Wednesday night. On the Sunday after Thanksgiving while we were all at work, the burglars came. Yes, burglars. They left with two old laptops, my beloved iPad, the bluetooth keyboard I used with my iPad, Annie’s old iPad1, Miles’ fancy designer sunglasses, Jordan’s old and much loved North Face backpack and, inexplicably, a full 2 liter bottle of Coca Cola. The police duly came and said, oh well. I called the insurance company and they, too, basically said, oh well. I have a $1000 deductible and no proof that I ever owned any 2007 laptops, much less the iPad. So that was fun.
The holidays arrived and Christmas was a lovely day; we got presents, ate and drank too much and watched Gremlins. Then of course all hell broke loose and the Sunday after Christmas (when I am the evil Empress of the Galaxy I will ban all Sundays after holidays) I ignominiously tumbled from a stool – not even a barstool, just a stepstool, in my closet, in the morning, and I wasn’t even hungover let alone drunk – and broke my left foot in a manner most alarming. See above. And since then – it’s been ten horrible days – I have been stumbling around on crutches, spending way too much time in bed and generally being rather miserable. I made it back to work for two days in there but now I am back at home, cranky, filthy and pretty much morphing into something that lurches out of bushes at passersby.
I had never quite understood just how bad it is to lose the use of a foot. It is fucking horrible, is what it is, because everything just becomes incrementally more difficult if not impossible. And everything was, frankly, difficult enough already. I cannot get in and out of my house without help, because it turns out that the step at my front door is too high for crutches, something I had never noticed in the last 9 years. I cannot take a bath or a shower, because I can’t get in and out of the bathtub without help. Audrey and I went and got a bath chair – nothing sexier or more glam than one of those contraptions squatting in the shower! – and she took down the glass doors, so it is possible now, but perilous, and I need her here when I attempt it. So I’ve had one shower in the last ten days, which is not enough when you are also having ridiculous hot flashes like ten times a day to the point where your glasses steam up and your hair drips sweat. You can’t carry anything on crutches, which means I can’t get my coffee from the kitchen to the bedroom and, well, on and on and bloody on, forever. TMI? TFB. Also, although I know this will come as a shock, I am not naturally graceful or athletic and man, turns out I SUCK at crutches. I keep narrowly escaping death by gravity and my shoulders are screaming at me. This is probably what is wrong with my arm, bah.
So here we are, hobbling into 2016. This is going to be a better year GODDAMNIT. If it kills me. And partly because I don’t think I can survive another year like 2015 and partly because my old friend Adam showed up the other day and gave me a mystical hippie pep talk, I am not going to concentrate any more on the bad. I am going for the GOOD. I am going to BUILD THE UNIVERSE I WANT TO LIVE IN! I am going to UNLEASH THE CREATIVE GENIUS THAT DWELLS WITHIN ME! Or something like that. Anyway, I’m going to draw more. Paint more. Photograph more. And blog more. And if I don’t do these things, send me an email and yell at me, because sweet whispering jesus in a snocone, what the hell is all this pain for if it doesn’t produce some motherfucking art?