Good Riddance!

Man. . . this one kind of snuck up on me.  I knew it was coming, but I just realized tonight is New Year's Eve.  Goodbye to fucking 2025, the year of stolen time.  

And good riddance. 

And it has ended apropos of all that has happened.  Last night, I cracked and lost part of a tooth, just a tiny piece, but now my tongue won't leave it alone.  

Selavy. .  my ass.  

Yesterday, I had a few hours of reprieve.  I met my friend, one of the great people from the factory, who is now a VP at a college in Virginia.  You may remember her as the one who saved the birthday card I gave her when she turned 30 in which I inscribed, "Now you are officially too old for me to date."  I know many of you will not find that humorous, but she did and she told me yesterday she has it in her desk drawer at work.  She took care of me at the factory with all things official and tedious, and when I got run over, she basically did everything that needed to be done while I was away.  When I retired, she told the next straw boss who took my place, "I ain't doing that for you," even though, I think, she was kind of sweet on him.  

So we went to the good Spanish restaurant where the barmaid always remembers what I eat and drink and where we left our last conversation.  She is a grand girl with two children who has since I've known her survived breast cancer, and I think she must now be one of the most grateful and cheerful women on the planet.  

Or so it would seem.  

I got to the bar first.  

"How was your Christmas?" I asked.  

"Great!  Our house looked like a Toy'rUs exploded in our living room."

She asked about mine.  

"Not so good."

"Oh. . . I'm sorry." 

When my friend showed up, I was drinking an A.A. cocktail, cranberry and soda. 

"What's that?"

"I started my Dry January the day after Christmas."

"You were doing that last time I saw you."

"So were you!"

So she said to the barmaid, "I'll have an A.A. cocktail, too."

Two fellows on the other side of the bar looked over and laughed.  

"Closest I'm getting to that was my No Shave November."  

I raised my "cocktail" in cheer.

Then we got down to it, telling one another what a shitty year it had been.  I had much more to tell, many more incidents.  She had one--the breakdown of her husband.  

"It seems all I have done is cry all year." 

I'll not belabor our miseries here.  Well, I have mine for months and months and months, but I'll not reveal anything more about hers.  In the end, though, we had a dark laugh about a morbid beginning to bring us a better year.  

"I shouldn't laugh at that," she said, "but I can't help it."

"Yea. . . we should go to hell."

And we laughed some more.  

I've thought much about it, and 2025 has been the worst year of my life.  The year my wife and I separated, she told me she wanted a divorce in late August.  By November, I was beginning one of the most exciting eras of my life.  I went to bed on New Year's Eve in one century and woke up the next morning in another with someone who would take up space rent free in my head for the remainder of my life.  

And to that I will say Selavy.  

I will be home with mother tonight.  Nothing like that turning of the century.  But I think I've decided to pop the cork on the remaining bottle of Veuve Cliquot.  I know I've started my Dry January, but it matters little.  Champagne tonight, Dry January again in the morning.  

It only makes sense.  

I'm working on some things that I will post tonight.  Stop by if you are up.  It will definitely be stupid and silly as the night should be.  Is there a "Thin Man" movie marathon playing on t.v. anywhere tonight?  Oh. . . that would be the thing.