Ah, Father Time 2009. It is well nigh time for you to beat feet. Pound sand. Make like a tree and get out of here. Please do not let the door hit you on that old man ass of yours on the way out. No, don't turn around. We're just making ready for the baby. Baby New Year that is. No, you can't help. You've done enough damage. You've pushed people to their limits, pushed some harder than they should ever be pushed in a lifetime. Please don't be offended if I don't shed a tear for your departure. Buh-bye. Wait one minute. Before you go. If you don't mind, could you take Jon Gosselin, Levi Johnston...no, no, Imma let you finish, but can you take Kanye, Achmadinnerjacket, Hugo "Try the Veal" Chavez and, well, damn this "how can we miss you if you won't go away" list is getting long. I guess that's it for now. Buh-bye.
In all seriousness, I can't remember a year I have been happier to see go. Usually as the end of the year approaches, I find myself waxing nostalgic, thinking about years past and wondering where the time has gone - hoping in vain that it might just slow down a bit.Maybe allow me some time to smell the roses as it were. But this year? Is it 11:59 pm December 31, 2009 yet? C'mon. Tap, tap, tap. I think my watch might be broken.
I feel like this year's theme song was Depeche Mode's
Fly On the Windscreen. Death certainly seemed to be everywhere. On twitter. On facebook. On blogs. And just when you thought you could escape it by logging off, putting the laptop in a closet, burying it under winter coats and walking away, the phone rings. Gah! What's on TV? Fuck. Really? "Ok, this year can end now. I can haz sum peaz nao?"
Perhaps what's sucked more about the deaths that have touched my family both directly and indirectly this year was that they weren't what one usually expects. That is, they didn't follow the natural course of life as we usually interpret it.
Birth, school, work, death (thank you Godfathers). Death comes to those who have lived full lives and only rarely does he come for others. At least that's what I tell myself though I should probably know better by now. Death is often indiscriminate in who he visits whether we like it or not. Unfortunately, I don't think I've heard the word "untimely" used more than I have these past twelve months. And now I think I've had enough thankyouverymuch.
I know that we in the Dubya household have not been disproportionately hit or touched by Death's cold, bony touch (though it may feel like it), but it's been a year when I've muttered "unfair" or "sonofabitch" more often than I care to.
I wrote about one back in the summer, but the past three weeks have been a particular level of suckage that 2010 cannot arrive fast enough. A family friend decided, at age 43, that whatever demons he was up against, they just weren't worth fighting anymore. Mrs. Big Dubya's cousin, age 28, succumbed to his own particular sort of nasty, unrelenting demon despite the best efforts of those around him who love(d) him. And then last Tuesday, three days before Christmas, the 24-year-old granddaughter of one of our dearest and closest family friends, made an ill-fated u-turn. I remember when she was born.
So, thank you for allowing me to vent as we ring out this God-forsaken @#!!#&**$#@ year and ring in a bright and shiny, everything's coming up roses 2010.
Hey, 2009, one last thing: #suckit
