Trish and Darin Glass Half Empty
It is a new year and I am slogging through it already. Mom went into the hospital and had surgery on December 20th, and the illness I had been fighting off took me over for the next two weeks. The vacation days that I took well in advance of the end of the year, with the express though to spend them doing fun things and not thinking about the dread I am feeling from work and from the impending inauguration of president-elect Baby Tyrant never happened. I was too ill to attend the parties I was invited to and became a slave to Mucinex, steroids, antibiotics, Nyquil and a neti pot. I did manage to get to the Degas exhibit at the MFAH and it was transcendent. More than 200 pieces of art including drawings, paintings, sculptures, and photographs. It was an incredible history lesson and journey through the life of an incredibly talented artist. I am going to strive this year to see as much art as I can, since I don't seem to be capable of creating it at the moment. I am also setting the bar very low for my goals this year. Survival is my watchword, emotionally, professionally, and physically. If I manage to survive, then goals met. If anything happens beyond survival, then there may be cause for celebration.
I face the new year, not with a renewed sense of purpose or having replenished my reserves, but in a depressed and depleted state. I don't want to go back to work. I don't have the energy to help anyone, so I will go through the motions and hope that the law of averages will make everything appear to be running as it should, not good, not bad, but middling. Not sunshine or rain, nothing to inspire an emotional lift or fall, just more of the grey nothingness.
Fuck 2016 and all the promise that was lost, and fuck 2017, too. I know what's coming and it is going to be a bitch of a year.