Year End Black Funk

It's been a hard day's night.
For a year.

My sense of never-ending, ever-extending possibility is being trampled into slush in the grey fog of discarded illusions, as I get into my annual another-year-gone-by-and-what-have-I-achieved angst.

Every year, around this time, my insides start squirming around, to lead me to an overwhelming question (forgive me, TS: no, do not ask what is it).

In the matter of Universe Vs. Frog, the defendant stands accused of being an undisciplined, lethargic bum, a prefers-lying-around-reading-and disappearing-into-dreamworlds-to-getting-up-and-initiating-some-action hope-less, soul-less thrift-less, shift-less, drifting piece of human excrescence. And usually, judged by the high standards of this court, the defendant doesn't just lose - she's demolished, decapitated, de.

It begins like this. Suddenly, one afternoon at work, remembering that it's a friend's birthday, I send him a message. My mind works slowly during this run up to this epiphany. I'm going along, clicking my fingers, thinking, hey, wow, time really passes like that ... And suddenly, it hits me. December. End. Finito. New. Old. Shift. Change. Ding!

And so. I withdraw. I start thinking about the year. Can't be that I've accomplished / achieved nothing, it just can't. I can distinctly remember actually being nice to some people sometime during the year - surely that ought to count in my favour. I've refrained from eating potatoes for 150 (give or take) days out of 365 - that's gotta show some iron self control, huh? And, well, god knows I did well at work (even though somehow, these days, dragging myself out of bed in the morning to go to work is such a pain that I almost want to be diagnosed with some non-mortally-serious disease that demands bed-rest for a month, without too much imposition on people around, - a disease that also leads to steady - and rapid - weight loss without seriously impairing my energy / health... ).

I start drawing up hysterical sets of accounts, covering everything from the professional (Spear-headed the retail marketing initiative. Sassed the boss.) to the personal (Learnt a language. Forgot it.) and so on.

So this is due warning. All my posts over the next few weeks are likely to zig-zag wildly between foul moods and introspective calm. Bear up. This weather is likely to continue until, on New Year's Eve, I find a bonfire into whose embers I can stare thoughtfully, for hours, remembering and letting go and learning to live all over again.

Meanwhile, here's food for thought:

"The worst thing about the future is that it keeps turning into the present."

~ Calvin (Bill Watterson)