One Word: Encapsulate the year 2011 in one word. Explain why you’re choosing that word. Now, imagine it’s one year from today, what would you like the word to be that captures 2012 for you?
I came very close to blowing off this post. Skipping it. Or at least putting it off until tomorrow…without genuine intention to pick it up again. There was a list, a bunch of “WHYs” and, at the top, the reality of my recent state of mind. The spinning, whirling mess and the endless drop to the bottom. I remembered last year’s journey and how my mostly one-sided musings circled the same two or three topics…30 days of endless loop, staring at each thing from all angles and shining the light of 360 degree surveillance on them in hopes of coming to some manner of clarity. Some days I was rueful, others sardonic, but mostly I was optimistic: hopeful for brighter days ahead and certain that I’d taken something from those experiences to guide me forward. It turns out those December days were postcards from the edge.
Looking down at the things circling the bowl labeled 2011, I wondered seriously if they were the types of things I should be sharing out loud. I imagined the pity party and the well-intentioned “We’re All In This Togethers”. Imagined post after post of maudlin mental vomit and then the subsequent nose-dive of friends and followers; people fleeing the scene of the crash to keep out from under the swirling black cloud that’s been plaguing me.
But the stark reality hit not long into The Making-Of-Excuses and I jolted to and began typing: My bread is buttered one way only, and that is with a blunt knife. My niche, you see, is the truth. The Self Truth. The uncensored description of the crazy that I keep in my closet. Why on earth would I start keeping secrets now? I’m not published, or accomplished or professional. I don’t have a book, or an idea for a book or a million followers. What I do have, what I’m not lacking, is my truth and the lantern I shine on it, and I fancy that’s what keeps the few readers coming back. In the end, I may not know what’s going to come out of my mouth next, but I do know that it’s going to be as close as I can get it to The Big T.
So FUCK IT!, I say. Fuck it, and let’s see what comes out in the wash. In for the penny, in for the pound, and kids, Mama’s got some shit to get off her chest.
So with that, you should know that my word for 2011 is MELANCHOLY. I had some amazing experiences and saw some extraordinary things. I laughed out loud and fought even louder. I took leaps and made efforts and conquered smoking (Adieu, Parliament Lights!) But over it all, clouding the lens, peeing in my cereal, was my old friend Depression. She’s camped out even now in the deep recesses: over a table and under a bare fluorescent bulb, wearing green fatigues and smoking those Parliaments…planning her next guerrilla attack. Over the next 30 days, if last year is any indication, I’m going to be introducing her to you, so here’s your fair warning. She walks around with a half-empty bottle of vodka and no makeup, and most of the time she forgets to shower.
Last year, I wanted Renaissance, but got instead, rain my parade. I’ll be damned if I let that bitch squat where she is for another 365. This year? 2012? Light. Let there be light.