In Which, the Vanquished Finds Her Strength

It happened again. I got my ass kicked by the 12th month of the year. Just like every year since 1998. December – 14, Bourbonface – 0.

I’ve blathered enough on this blog about mom’s death just after Christmas of ’98, so I’ll spare my dear readers that useless noise. But I’d hoped that being aware, being “prepped” as I thought I was might make the battle a little less arduous this year. Lord almighty, how wrong I was.

This might have been the worst one yet. Deeper into the abyss I go every year. It used to just be a sort of melancholy. Then it was full on depression. Now it’s depression with a mean streak and a total lack of patience for anyone within a 10 ft radius. In short, I was a real bastard this holiday season. And to add insult to injury, we had to deal with an absurd cash-flow problem right around the holidays courtesy of some pathologically problematic clients. What better time of year to be cash-poor than at Christmas, when Apple and Zales and Lexus are reminding you hourly that you’re a terrible person unless you’ve purchased their crap for your family and friends?

But hallelujah, it’s December 28th. This miserable month is coming to its close. The real world will begin anew in just a few days, and this excruciating season will be just another unpleasant memory to file away. 2012 beckons with a siren song, its promise unspoiled, its potential limitless. I can’t wait to shake off this cocoon and emerge to face the sun, brilliant and life-giving. My hibernation is over. Spring awaits, and I run toward it like a lonely child to mother. It’s only moments away.