I might be stumbling past the finish line but that doesn’t mean I’m done.
It’s been more than a month since I last clicked “publish” on a post. There’s a long list of contributing factors as to why it’s been so long. And only one reason: the funny just dried up.
But I couldn’t let the year pass without having a few parting words. Just one post to stand for December and all of 2014.
2014 was the Year of Oily Ass Cheeks and racial turmoil. It started with the polar vortex and only seemed to get colder. 2014 gave us all Meghan Trainor. I can’t think of a bigger “fuck you.”
For me, it was a year of fury. I’ve never been angrier in my life. I took two posts down for entirely different reasons. I have drafts sitting unpublished that are the furthest from funny I can stretch. I have a short list of people I’d love to beat the piss out of. I’m on that list.
2014 felt like a storm. It felt like an end. It felt hopeless.
And the worst part: nothing major happened. No disease. No unemployment. No death. No divorce. No relocation. No bankruptcy. None of the big stressors that strain emotions and mental health.
Which makes all of my anguish pointless. Pathetic.
I’m not putting this post up to throw myself a year-end pity party or be cryptic and mysterious or kick up drama. I’m putting this up to dump it all out and leave it here in 2014. I don’t want it anymore. I needed to bleed these few words. I want to move forward with the good things I’ve had. This blog and the bloggers I’ve met and the potential for funny. Future funny. 2015 funny.
It seems every year departs with my foot squarely in its ass. And every new year is welcomed in from the cold, offered brandy, and handed a fine cigar. That’s never been truer.
Tonight, I’ll turn my back on 2014. I’ll turn toward 2015. I’ll try to let go of this person I’ve become and get back to being the person that I am.
I hope you’ll come with.