If 2012 were a guy, it would be guy who tries to fuck on the first date.
Not even like, guy-who-is-insanely-charming-and-hilarious-so-you-have-absolutely-no-recourse-BUT-to-end-the-date-with-your-panties-on-top-of-the-flat-screen. No, this is like barely-put-forth-an-effort-but-expect-you-to-give-it-up-because-he-brought-popcorn-AND-candy-at-the-movies guy.
That is to say, 2012 is fucking me without preamble or pomp and circumstance. And I am not happy about it.
As it stands, we are exactly 25 days into 2012. In case you are keeping score at home, in that time I have:
– Gotten into a car accident that has rendered my car undriveable, and the party that caused the accident may or may not be insured.
– Found out Peter Parker is getting married.
– Had an opportunity for advancement at work fall through.
– Had to rush my mama to the emergency room, resulting in an extended hospital stay.
All of this, while annoying, isn’t exactly largely life ending. But the combination of all of them, in the span of TWENTY FIVE DAYS during which I have not been drinking regularly is entirely too much to bear. TOO MUCH.
*sigh* 2012 is already kicking my ass. I am EXHAUSTED.
The good news is, I will be fine. I know that. I may have been quietly getting my ass kicked (hence messing up the Tuesday/Thursday post schedule here at Liquor, Loans and Love) but I have also been fighting mightly to right my universe. And making good on my promise to be more impulsive in my pursuit of happiness.
But seriously, 2012, could you take it easy on me? You could at least buy me a nice dinner and call me pretty first.