I AM GONNA MAKE IT THROUGH THIS YEAR
...IF IT KILLS ME!
2025 was a strange one. I'm sure you all know the general miseries of these past 12 months, and many of you have been through specific miseries of your own. I know I've fought my own battles this year; most against myself, and most of those I've lost. Self-isolation, and its seductive safety. The Absolutely Safe Capsule of a quiet room with a laptop and an internet connection. And sleep! Good Lord in heaven, sleep. I have yet to find a consistent way to regulate my sleep schedule; it is a mess as I type this. You're supposed to be awake for midnight on New Year's, sure, but to have been awake since midnight the night before? Waking at 5PM, sleeping at 7AM? This year, I'll find a way out of it all, if that good Lord in heaven I mentioned wills it.
But to write this year off as a failure? ¡Claro que no! I've had plenty to be proud of. Had my first kiss; underwhelming, and perhaps late at 27, but with someone kind and good, who I'm unashamed to have kissed. I've become, on a whim, a volunteer spotlight operator for my local community theatre. I've met more good friends here, of my own, than I ever expected to. A cake for my brother, too long deceased for me to remember, broke my heart in a way I didn't think it could still be broken. Is that an accomplishment? Maybe we'll count it as one. Proving to myself that I'm still human; to bleed proves that warm blood still courses through your veins. And I've written. I've written more than I thought I would, but less than I'd planned. Mice and men, and all that. Scripts for short comics, scraps for longer ones, a bit of a play, another few sections of prose with no discernable final shape; and yes, blog posts, many of which were abandoned halfway, a selection of which were abandoned far enough into writing, that if you go back through my archives, you may notice that I actually posted them. Less so recently, which I'd like to change. I still worry about my voice. Am I here being playful in a pretentious way, or pretentious in a playful way? Does that clash with the rough, colloquial entries? Maybe it's silly to think of one's writing output like a chic living room, where you simply can't let the carpet clash with the drapes, dearie? I don't know jack shit about writing, except for two rules: move forward, and have fun.
Wouldn't you know it, I've even read some books this year! Big boy wordy-type books, not just graphic novels -- although that's not to insult the many fine graphic novels and comic books I have read this year. Another time with Slaughterhouse Five, an introduction to a love of Catch-22, and the revalation that yes, I still don't yet care for the prose of Ernest Hemingway in an abandonment of A Farewell to Arms. Sorry! Perhaps another time.
May God bless these fine folks, and all the ones I'll be kicking myself for not remembering:
All my family, but not just my Mom, my Dad, K, T, other T, C, R, and sweet baby E, whom I hope her mothers will forgive me for singing so much Mountain Goats and thinly veiled communist music to (It's standing baby/It's standing baby/It's standing girl, standing girl, standing girl, girl, girl).
All the friends I've met this year, and all the friends I lost touch with, but not just D, G, L, A, the other D I met in theatre, everyone I met in theatre, K, and everyone who I'm sure I'd know the face of, but I couldn't put a name to. Doing my damnedest to get better with names.
The artists I deeply respect, but not merely Kurt Vonnegut, Joseph Heller, Urasawa Naoki, Gray Folie, Edward Albee, Itoi Shigesato, and I have come to the conclusion that to even try to list them all is a fool's errand. All of you, from the big-name American authors, to the actors playing in a small-time theatre for the pure passion and for something to do on a Friday night, to the painter who's only publicity comes from her daughter posthumously displaying her fascinating work in her real estate office; from those I hold dear, to those who's names, and even works, I have forgotten.
And, hell, since we're dishing 'em out this wide, God bless this whole ugly, beautiful world.
We are gonna make it through this year, if it kills us.
If you want, I always like messages in my guestbook. I'm not too proud to admit that I like hearing what other people have to say about what I say.
EDIT: what a cool time for the website i host my guestbook on to crap its pants. oh well, just email me or something