The Year of Dresden Jones

Even I'm surprised I didn't take to the Internet and go loco on y'all about some recent events.  To be honest, I feel as if I've lost a bit of my mojo.  2010 was a shit year, that's for sure.  And that really pisses me off because, at the start of 2010, I told everyone, "It's The Year of Dresden Jones."  I was serious--I was going to get shit done.  But you know that "self-fulfilling prophecy" stuff people talk about?  Yeah.  That.

As I watched the Vikings lose their only viable shot at the Super Bowl in 400 years because Brad Childress cannot count, I thought, "Oh shit...is this an omen?  Will this not be The Year of Dresden Jones?"  This sounds ridiculous and I'm 100% aware of that.  But I go through life thinking trivial things mean everything and the obvious signs mean nothing.  Like, "If I make it through this light, I'll totally get a promotion at work."  Where the hell does that come from?

Anyway, I was disappointed but determined not to let football (fucking football) derail The Year of Dresden Jones.  And to be fair to the NFL, football had nothing to do with it.  No.  It was allllll me, baby.  I consumed and staggered and blacked out through the year, right up until the very end.  Well, that's not entirely true...in September I found myself so devastated that I had to stop driving and sob in my car.  Why?  Because it was most certainly not The Year of Dresden Jones and that was becoming abundantly clear.

But...have you ever taken you car in for an oil change and suddenly they tell you, "Well, you need an oil change, new wiper blades, 2 new tires (because you can't get just one new tire), your head gasket is leaking and you lost your muffler somewhere on Interstate 94."  That's kind of what happened.  Only not to my car.  To me.

I've been acutely aware that I'm nuts for a long time.  To try and remedy this, I see therapists, I take pills, I cry a lot, I write, I drink, I tell people to fuck off, I buy make-up and shoes, I go to the gym, I listen to music, I drink, I get my eyebrows waxed, I solve other people's problems, I eat, I get a massage, I laugh my ass off, I drink, I determine that I am the smartest person in the world, I cry a lot, I decide I need to move, I drink, I get involved with men who have nothing to offer me (or the universe), I decide I need a new job, I take a vacation, I drink, I attempt to stuff something, anything into this gigantic hole inside me and when that fails, I drink.

And then BAM!  Something crazy occurs.  And I stop and wonder, "Well how the hell did that happen?"  Then I feel sorry for myself and I decide that I've been dealt a shit hand and everyone has an easier, happier existence than me.  That makes it easier for me to hate everyone and everything--myself the very most. 

I've been spinning through life and acting surprised when I get dizzy and fall down.

Then I met this man.  When I first saw him, I thought, "Old...messy life...probably has a criminal record.  No good; file him in 'stay away.'"  I sat next to him like a rocket about to take off, through the ceiling, my arms crossed tightly, my legs jumping, my jaw clenched.  This is how I usually am.  Why?  Because I'm uncomfortable.  I have to be doing something--making people laugh, showing people how smart I am, drinking.  And even though I was a cold, uptight bitch for an entire hour, that man turned to me and smiled and said, "You're going to be ok."  Then he gave me a little something and told me to keep it in my pocket.  I wept--not because his gift was so glorious or because I was so upset.  But because this man, who I had judged so harshly upon first sight, was so kind to me, so accepting.  And he was right.  I am going to be ok.  After all...it's The Year of Dresden Jones.