How would I describe 2012? In a word: sucky. I've given it considerable thought and that's what I've come up with. I'm pretty knowledgeable when it comes to words--I know a great many of them, in fact. And this one fits perfectly.
Twenty-twelve was a sucky year.
Oh, it started out promising. A new job. A new (personal) decade ushered in surrounded by friends and family.
Then it all fell apart. And what followed was just...weird. Sucky. I won't bore you with details. I think I referenced just what obstacles I encountered in my sparse postings of the last 12 months.
I think it will suffice to say that I was (was? Am) at war. Internal battles rage constantly.
Side One: It's time to get up off the couch.
Side two: No. I'm going to sit here just a little bit longer.
Side One: Get up and do something. Sitting there dwelling on things will not make you feel better.
Side Two: I'm not dwelling on anything. In fact, I'm hardly thinking anything at all.
(It just dawned on me that my transcribed internal dialogues remind me of Beckett plays. Not sure if I should laugh or cry)
And I never felt in control of anything. One day I would feel perfectly fine--getting out of bed and brushing my teeth like a normal person. Then suddenly, the bell jar hovered overhead ("I felt very still and very empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel, moving dully along in the middle of the surrounding hullabaloo." Sylvia Plath).
It was a year of false starts and insincere resolutions and of not being able to gather enough strength to pull myself out of the water that was slowly, comfortably, heating up to boil me alive.
And yet, it's nearly over--the year, that is. I can't--I won't make any bright, sweeping promises for 2013. Irony has a way of showing up right about the time I do (I learned that lesson the hard way, about a year ago).
So, I'll just close by saying that I'm hopeful I can make the year I'm cautiously entering better than the year I'm happily leaving behind.