Adios, Seventeen

Sometimes while sitting at the kitchen table (which is where I spend 95% of my time when not at work or sleeping), I am struck with the thought, "I can't believe it's 2017!"

...this is followed by the thought of how in 1980 I couldn't believe I would "see" the year 2000. I have a very specific memory from 1980 about the year 2000. I was 18, sitting on my bed, reading a graduation card from my aunt. She is the first one who pointed out the whole "2000" thing. Two thousand. The year TWO THOUSAND! That sounded a bazillion years away, an almost-impossibility.

We're now 17 years beyond that. Eighteen years, if you wait a few more hours.

It is hard to wrap my head around this. So, instead of pondering on it further, I usually just get up and get another piece of chocolate.

Problem solved.

Twenty-seventeen was not the wife's favorite year. In fact, I'd guess she'd rate it as one of her least favorite years of her lifetime. I choose to believe her year was salvaged by the arrival of two rescue dogs but I think that might be a stretch. From Aaron Rodgers breaking his collar bone to being in the medical loop, the year tested her mettle. Come 11:59 PM on New Year's Eve, my guess is that she'll blurt out: "Adios, 2017--and, don't let the door hit you in the ass on your way out."

(If it were me, I'd be throwing in a bunch of swear words, but that's not her thing.)

As for me, I find the rescue pups erase any fleeting "low" moments in 2017. Oh, there were challenges and real life stress and one-too-many-hour spent watching Netflix and one orange idiot in charge, but the world kept turning, everyone kept breathing and the orange idiot didn't get us blown off the map. I loved the solar eclipse stuff, so that adds bonus points to my year. I loved being part of the Women's March (thank you, Pantsuits; piss on you, tiki-torch-bearing asswipes). I am grateful for the wake-up call to get involved, get moving, get vocal. I got a teeny, tiny new tattoo (no, seriously--it's a teeny tiny semi-colon), stopped dying my hair, taught myself basic html, avoided bedbugs, survived traffic in Boston and, in the last fleeting moments of the year, purchased a new car (godspeed, pterodactyl). That's a mighty good year, if you ask me.

No Cheetos-in-charge is going to ruin my year. 

And so, another year comes to a close. I look forward to 2018, with its promise and clean slate and already-in-motion plans. I make no resolutions beyond doing my best to avoid gluten and to continue changing the toilet paper roll whenever it runs out. Good enough for me.

As for you, may you have the happiest of years. May you face few obstacles and enjoy much beauty. May doors that close lead to even better doors that open. May you consume vats of chocolate. And, in the most Irish way of being:

May the road rise to meet you, 
may the wind be ever at your back. 
May the sun shine warm upon your face, 
and the rains fall soft upon your fields. 
And until we meet again, 
may God hold you in the palm of his hand.

Happy New Year from the Addiverse!

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