I Officially Hate 2016

I Officially Hate 2016

I am not one of those people who believes in the calendar dictating your life in any way. In fact, any day now I’ll be giving my annual lecture on why New Year’s Resolutions are stupid beyond belief; if you truly want to change something about you, the flip of a date is not what motivates you to do so. That, by the way, is why 90% of all resolutions every year are over by February. I stand by that position.

I also know from living that news; good, none, and bad, tends to come in waves. Each of us will experience periods of times in our adult lives where everything is just going along fine. No highs, no lows, just life, nice and calm. We will also have those euphoric runs where it seems like everything is going our way, and sadly, the opposite, where it seems we just can’t catch a break and we’re afraid to look around the corner lest we get crushed by a piano (and somehow live to experience the latest insult by the universe).

With that said, I’m ready for 2016 to eat my ass and disappear. Lest you think this is just some 1%-er bitching about his stock portfolio, trust me, I know I am blessed (and, BTW, my stock portfolio is doing FANTASTIC…thanks Obama). It’s not about perspective, it’s about being ready for a bit of a break. After a year of burying the greatest dog I ever knew, multiple dumbass illnesses, countless hours of therapy to help me deal with the end of a nearly 4-year relationship that I thought would be my last, a seemingly endless list of friends and loved ones dealing with death, other issues personal to those who don’t choose to be public, and my sports teams sucking (it’s a bad time to be a Niners and A’s fan), I’m done with 2016.

And then came Thanksgiving.

I learned a long time ago that it is not wise to live life by constantly looking forward. If you go through life looking towards your next vacation or dreading your next challenge, you aren’t living in the moment and you miss out on so much. However, lately, I’ve needed a light at the end of the tunnel and Thanksgiving had been it. I love to host Thanksgiving; it’s one of the highlights of my years. Only good people who want to have casual fun are welcome and my now 84-year-old father joins us every year so there’s much to enjoy. Additionally, this year, my girlfriend Christina (the only great thing to come my way in 2016) and I would be spending our first “major” holiday together hosting a dozen guests. With all of that looming, I ordered 3 turkeys and began prepping weeks in advance.

I should have known better.

The Saturday before Thanksgiving I picked up my turkeys and as I was carrying them into my garage refrigerators I slipped from the pouring rain and face planted myself firmly onto the concrete floor, giving myself a black eye that 9 days later is still prominent. That should have been my sign.
Ever the optimist, I refused to see any signs. I picked Christina up from the airport Tuesday morning when she flew in from her home in Dallas and everything went great, including my father arriving Wednesday and all of the turkey prep being right on time.

And then Thanksgiving arrived.

For me, Thanksgiving this year began at 1:30 AM when I woke up puking my guts out…which then turned to pooping my guts out and then added in chills, sweating, body aches and nothing but good times. As late as 7:30AM Thanksgiving morning Christina and I discussed (while I lie miserably in a hot bath tub trying to not puke on myself) cancelling the holiday. Realizing that was ridiculous, we teamed up with my dad and prepped the meal. Once the guests arrived, I essentially turned Thanksgiving over to Christina and Dawn’s husband, Gary, and spent the holiday puking and pooping and never even made it to the table for dinner. From what I hear, most of the food was pretty damn good. Yay everyone else.

So, 2016, go to hell. Thanks for what I can only hope was your final insult of ruining one of my favorite days of the year by giving me the flu, plague, AIDS, or whatever is it that haunts me still as I write this on Sunday morning.

What’s the point of this bitch fest you ask? Well…I’m not really sure other than to remind myself and you that tomorrow is another day and we all must and will keep fighting and finding a way. I’m going to try to be present, but I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you I am really looking forward to Christmas. Hopefully Santa will bring me Leukemia as a gift. Ugh.

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