One year ago today, I did a year-end retrospective of the goings on here at WWIT in 2005. That was a fun year here. When I started thinking of such things to write today . . . let’s face it, friends, 2006 has pretty much sucked around here.
Some good things: I discovered, in ways that still amaze, delight and a-tiny-bit scare me, how close I could become to people I don’t know. On the flip side, I will say here, and probably never elaborate here, I learned how much I could be devastated, really made heartsick, by the deception of people that I don’t know. The former so very much outweighs the latter, that it’s OK. It really is OK.
I didn’t write much this past year. And what I did, for the most part, was the stuff I hate to write, which can be condensed into, “I’m sick. I’m still sick. I don’t know what’s wrong. I’m scared. I’m still scared. They don’t know what’s wrong.” You probably can’t imagine how much I want to leave that place. How much I want to post, “They figured it out and I’m getting fixed!” Or even better, “I woke up and it was all gone!” It could happen. Things happen. Like that. Sometimes.
Anyhow, there are only two things from the past year that I am inclined to share with you again. There came a time, in late April, when I knew something was wrong with me, and I thought I’d stop posting until I got better, except for the Sunday Posts. At that time I thought, mistakenly, that “better” would be right around the corner. I did come back to posting, though, because I missed it (and you) too much. But my favorite Sunday Post, one whose meaning has taken on new dimension since I originally published it in June, was this one:
Sunday Post ~ “That which doesn’t kill us . . . is gonna wish that it had.” — Starla Grady, Head Hornette, in the movie “She Gets What She Wants”
2 Timothy 1:7
And my overall favorite post of the year was one that didn’t have many words at all. I liked it most because it still makes me laugh, and because it made my girl, eclectic, laugh so hard her husband banned her from the computer for the evening. I have heard Shari’s voice, her cry and her laugh, and the thought of making her laugh enough to get her in trouble still tickles me tremendously. That’s why I love this post, from last February:
Those turkey farmers across the hall from my office are at it again. Apparently since the turkey holidays are over, they have some time for recreation. And their recreation of choice is the building of snowmen, or, as one of them corrected me, “snowmans.”
This snowman has low self-esteem. His nose is running, he slouches, and his mom dresses him funny.
This snowman is going to a formal affair. See his top hat? His self-esteem is better, although he is out of touch with his body. Especially the bottom third of it.
This snowman will need corrective footwear. But he has a very fine hat. See the round, fuzzy thing on top of the hat? When a round, fuzzy thing is on top of a hat, we call it a “pom pom.”
What do we call it when it is located here? This snowman may have had an accident, or even an illness, but he can still live a normal, happy life.
This snowman is smiling from eye to eye. Why do you think that is?
Thanks for hanging in with me, you bunch o’ ratsasstafarians. Bless your hearts. Sorry to suck so much. Hope next year finds more funny and less sick here. Or at least a funnier sort of sick. Maybe even a sicker sort of funny . . .
file under: &Meta-blogging &WTF Disease