The
odds to be unhappy in my December are 1 in 13. Or zero.
It’s
my birth month.
Directing
gigs.
Hosting
gigs.
Bonuses.
It’s
Mariah’s Season (and with her are new projects and surprises to boot).
Christmas
Parties.
Reunions.
Christmas
Day.
Anniversaries.
Film
Fest.
Yearend
Parties.
New
Year’s Eve.
My
closest friends’ and ex’s birth month too.
Yet
2016 amply mustered 13 universes of oppositeness to defy it.
In
every single one of the possible universe of happiness.
There’s
gotta be a pun or punchline somewhere awaiting a best time to desaturate the
madness.
But
till the last second, it stayed that way.
Deadpan.
More
a punch than a lifeline.
In
hindsight, ultimate question goes: was it the year’s fault?
Mystically,
yes.
Realistically,
no.
Happiness
has ALWAYS been a human being’s choice.
Of
himself or of others.
And
I chose to misgive,
to
lose,
to
pass up,
to
reject,
to
snub,
to
skip,
to
ignore,
to be
overshadowed,
to
be rained on,
to oppugn,
to
absent,
to detonate,
to slack
up.
Painfully
inexplicable, human nature is.
I
tried but I didn’t prepare to lose so much.
Too
paradoxical that to globalize the proportions of my own unhappiness, Mariah
Carey can set the perspective to sum up my December 2016 in every perfect sense
of its debacle.
No,
not that musical metaphor.
But THIS debacle:
Too painful to finish like my December.
But here we are. A new year ahead of us.
But here we are. A new year ahead of us.
One ending in what many consider a lucky number.
Not my personal favorite but hopefully this number brings better odds.
