The noble cyanocrylate Jackson pine that had adorned my parents' living room has once again been crammed into a brightly hued body bag and shoved under the stairs for another 11-month long nap. I've always liked January. My birthday's in January, though that promises to be a non-event at best this year. It's also horrifically cold, which I enjoy, but that's not really it either. Mostly I like a new year. It's a fresh set of downs. I've always (or nearly always) been future-oriented. I'm a guy with not much going for him but potential. That's probably less and less true at the age of 30, but I'm told 30 is the new 20 by people too young by that math for their opinion to matter. In any case, I've knocked down two days of my two months of alternating toil and hibernation.
All in all, I'm in a good place. I managed to get through Christmas and New Years without major injury. I'm still a touch gimpy from my twisted ankle on Halloween and I can still feel some of the lump in my face from what was once a mighty black eye earned on Thanksgiving. Also, unlike the previous two holidays, I managed to not get broken up with through past couple weeks, though that was mostly by the severely efficient means of not having been dating at the time. Terms are more or less amicable, though Laura has put her assertion that she was "not going to wait around for me to deal with my Stevie situation" into fairly expedient action, Facebook status updates tell me. I met him last week. Nice enough guy, by the less than august standards of Guys Who Come After. Though his Facebook does list his religion as "Norse Pagan." That's troubling.
I'm hoping that's either intended as irony or that he's using "religion" as a synonym for "hobbie" or "thing I use to select tattoo designs," because the alternative is that he thinks we're going to some day drown in the blood of the Midgard serpent, or that it's a pretense intended to elicit toothy BJs from fat Wiccans at Summer Solstice bonfire parties behind their dads' cabins in Dakota County.
Trifles, in any case. Best of luck to them both.
In other news, some combination of my recent severe illness, winter beard, lack of grooming, my new default winter outfit, and crippling cynicism is really working for me, because the white trash girl at the gas station told me I looked nice today, and Sassy Black Lady at work agrees with her.
Tomorrow is both my birthday and my last scheduled 10-hour workday of the week. Snow is predicted for the morning commute.
Here's hoping all your dreams come true as mine have.
No comments:
Post a Comment