Well, its time is just about up. 2013 is lying on its back in a dark San Francisco alleyway, gurgling on its own drug-induced vomit as it stares up at a cold and godless sky. As it gasps for breath, a couple of passers-by take notice of its bloated frame as it twitches in a futile effort to roll onto its overly generous stomach.
“Oh my god,” says the technicolor-haired woman. “Isn’t that 2013?”
Her partner, a man of moderate height and build, turns his steely-eyed gaze down the alley and focuses on the rise and fall of its chest and gut. “Yeah, that’s definitely 2013.”
A sudden gust of wind carries the labored wheezing of this dying whale down the alley, echoing off the cold brick of the buildings as the couple listen to the droning bellows. The woman turns to the man, her ever-expressive eyes showing more than a semblance of concern. “They could be really hurt.”
“Good.” His single-word answer is as cold as the night air. Shortly after he turns and begins making his way back down the sidewalk, the technicolor-haired woman glancing back and forth between the man and the alleyway. “I didn’t like that fucker, anyways.”
Neither did I, imaginary dude. Neither did I.
When I started writing about the year that was 2013 I had a much longer blog post in mind. In the initial write-up I discussed how 2013 was remarkable in its consistent ability to be utter shit, and went into detail about how the combination of personal and professional issues drove me into a colossal depression. But after sitting on it for a few days I decided to scrap that blog. There’ll be a time and place to tell that story, but this is neither.
So, I sat and I tried to think of another way to talk about my year. After a few minutes of that I sighed, grabbed a winter lager from the fridge and said “screw this, I’ll just do six-word memoirs.” For those of you who don’t know, Six-Word Memoirs is a project from SMITH Magazine in which the goal is to write your life story in only six words.
That’s what I did… kinda. I summed up my year, month-by-month, in six words.
- January – This begins as the last ended.
- February – I fuck up; best friend cries.
- March – I work 429 hours in March.
- April – I worked 429 hours for nothing.
- May – Best friend returns. Smiles all around!
- June – Talking rationally to a brick wall.
- July – Depression. I lose the plot completely.
- August – Do not dare question my loyalty.
- September – Lose my job, and my rock.
- October – Heart aches, mind aches, body aches.
- November – Footage Not Found. Please Try Again.
- December – Drained, but excited about the future.
If I hadn’t made it apparent, I was a remarkably unhappy person over the past year. While there was a lot of shit flying through the vortex of suck, a fair majority of my stress came from the absolute dread and resentment that I felt towards my job. It’s a sensation that I had never experienced before, even on my worst days, and it is one that I have vowed to never experience again. This year has put me through the emotional ringer, but in the end I know that I’ve come out the other side a man of stronger mind, sounder judgment, and unwavering resolve. Now, as 2014 takes soft steps down the darkened San Francisco alley holding a big ol’ pillow in its hands to snuff out the last ember of life from that worthless vagabond that was 2013, I can say with absolute conviction that I ready to follow its lead.
Some people say that with the changing of the calendar, it’s the beginning of a new chapter in our lives. I, for one, can’t wait to turn the page and see what is waiting for me.