So That Was 2012? Not Too Shabby.

What happened with me in 2012? Quite a bit actually.

  • I met Molly Ringwald in February.
  • I nearly met John Cusack (well, I sat in the same room as him) in April.
  • I moved (on my own) out of my parents’ house and into my first apartment in June.
  • I worked up the guts to ask for a much-needed raise… also in June.
  • I started a somewhat serendipitous new relationship with someone from my recent past in July (totally did not see that one coming).
  • I didn’t receive the aforementioned raise, but I then worked up the guts to pursue a new opportunity for my own good in October.
  • I received said new opportunity in my desired field and for well-above my desired pay just 3 weeks before Christmas in December.

All-in-all, I could say it was a heck of a year. The things that happened happened fast, and all happened for a reason (or so I believe).
And if you consider the god-awfully depressing blog posts I was making around this time last year (December/January 2011, when I was crying every day and having brain zaps because I was on the wrong medication), the best thing that I was able to do for myself over the past year was get to an overall better state of mind (this happened incrementally every month thanks to all of the above).

I no longer want to undo my brother and I’s existence or burn down my parents’ house. I no longer have semi-suicidal thoughts associated with Christmas and New Year’s. My dream life has even calmed down.

Last New Year’s Eve I spent at my parents’ house, locked up in my room, blogging about how I was afraid of being alive and of how misleading this particular holiday is.

This New Year’s Eve I spent receiving mountains of free drinks from my closest guy friends, joining in a drunken sing-a-long to a ’90s cover band and being shamelessly loved upon.

As it fucking should be.

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“You Look Like You’ve Been Run Over By A Truck.”

You are very perceptive, father.

I spent the last 5-ish hours asleep, and I’m still dead tired. It was so hard to get up. Running the risk of sleeping right through the entire New Year’s Eve event is no sort of deterrent. Missing out feels just about right. Go to sleep, wake up and the whole thing is over. Why stay awake for crowds, pop-stars, booze and superficial nostalgia, when you can re-heat and snarf on your real memories like two-day old pizza just by turning out the light. The quality and meaningfulness of the things you see and encounter while dreaming are almost guaranteed to be greater than whatever it is you would see in wakefulness on New Year’s Eve. That is fact.

Go to sleep, wake up and it’s yet another year? Excuse me, but fuck you. Every day I wake up with the sneaking suspicion that it’s really still 1989, and that no matter what I do, I can never leave 1989. Not that I would want to, but still. It’s any fucking year that I say it is.

Friends pop into town for the holidays, but appear to be in a perpetual rush to leave. What’s the point? What do you expect to accomplish here in one day? And where are you going that you need to get out of here so quickly? What are you running from? The experience of one year ‘becoming’ another is the same no matter where you are in the country. It’s the same collective nothingness. You might as well just come to town, grab a pillow, and take a siesta in the streets instead of dancing or driving in them. For events that only take place in the mind, why do these dumbass holidays get more hype than dreaming? We’re on holiday every time we take a nap. But people just throw their shit into their cars, their trash into the streets, and all of their discarded memories into the past. There’s a giant landfill of vintage New Year’s Eve party hats and forgotten experiences lurking right behind us, and 99.99% of it is NON-BIODEGRADABLE, folks.

I should know. I mean, sure, in our world, useless, arbitrary things need a place to stay just like real things do, but if you’re not careful they’ll become sticky and follow you around forever. They’ll start thinking you want them. They’ll start thinking you need them. And then, they will just use you as a vehicle. You become nothing more than a living, breathing, walking, real-life haunting on display. Take me, for example. I apparently did something really wrong at some point during my childhood, and now I’m paying for it. I feel like I’ve been run over by the past, or as my dad might call it, “a truck”. I’m constantly getting pushed around by other people’s psychic debris. I used to think that the fear and anxiety was all just coming from me, but it’s not. I’m pure, and a little too receptive to nostalgia that I’ve inadvertently volunteered myself for this by milling around the landfill. It must get perpetuated by osmosis. Sensations from past points in time that I never even lived through have been hovering just near my head, sucking away all of my mental energy, washing over me repeatedly, tempting me to look back and not forward. And when you do look forward, it’s only to sense that something bad is about to happen to you, but you can’t quite put your finger on what it is, because there’s a giant cloud of debris obstructing your vision. A psychic cataract* caused by years of forgetting and bad luck. I’m constantly operating at 40% health and near 0% visibility in its wake.

In all honesty, this is one New Year’s Eve that I would probably benefit most from spending alone. This morning I had this awesome idea that I would spend the day playing the Sims, something I haven’t done in well over a year now. That didn’t happen so far since I fell asleep, but in my dream I helped some women construct a building, I participated in something that was maybe a daily job, and at one point, I carried a young child on my hip. I could even feel his tiny legs squeezing around me. I’ve almost accomplished everything I was hoping to do in-game.

I don’t even think my copy of The Sims 2 or 3 are working right now. Some custom content I installed a long time ago has been causing the game to crash repeatedly.

Such is life!

*I suffered from congenital cataracts in both eyes when I was little, and underwent two eye surgeries and a series of out-patient laser procedures between 1992 and 1994. A good portion of my memories from that time involve darkness, thanks to eye patches.