And here's why

There are few things in my life that get the thoughts a-churnin' better than a long run or rollerblade... and, somewhat unfathomably, choir practice. Perhaps it's the structure of doing something disciplined with my body that allows my mind to detach a bit and wander, or perhaps it's that the kinetic creativity (singing is a lot more of an active sport than I'd imagined!) kicks the ole thinker into gear. Either way, I was just at choir practice, and now (finally; it's been a fairly long while) I have Something to Say.

Something that makes it past my admittedly semi-permeable publication filters, anyway.

December was an enormous of a waste of my time, emotionally speaking. I'd rather have just skipped over it in all of its self-pitying, miserable-wallowing glory. Except for the first few days of it, when I was still at home soaking up the bliss. The break was so distinct when I came back on the 5th, though, that those first few Decembery days belong most decidedly to November in my little world where I am the drawer of the boundaries.

The rest of December is cordially invited, as it were, to bite me.

I have never felt as scroogey or as bah-humbuggy as I did this Christmas. The holidays had no cheer, all of the joy was squeezed out and used up at home and there wasn't a drop left in the coffer upon my return. I thought this joy stuff was self-replicating, especially in the Aforementioned Month That Reeks of Poo, but as it turns out, it's entirely possibly to short-sheet yourself in the joy department. Like old saggy boobs that have nursed one too many ravenous tots. Dried and shriveled and used up.

I spent the Christmas weekend at the home of a wonderful family who has invited me into its bosom not once but twice over the holdiays... and I didn't feel a damn thing. No warm Christmassy sentiments, no Yuletide cheer; nuttin'. Tabula rasa. I guess I'm thankful that Zombie Jess managed to avoid the wrath of the Hunters of the Undead. At least there's that.

December is now over (as is the equally esteemed and equivalently reeky Year 2005 A.D.). I shall not dwell any longer on its utter horrendousness except to say the following: I am the cause of my own dumb life. I am officially not allowed anymore to weep myself to sleep at night wondering why must it always be the same freaking insecurities that come and bite me in the nethers. Because I've realized that it's basically my own damn fault. And here's why: when you consistently act in such a way as to make people react in such a way that it triggers your deepest insecurities... then you are unequivocally the cause of your own dumb life.

I guess that gives me somewhere to start my New Year's resolutions, huh.

I don't mean to give off the impression that I plan to stagnate here at ground zero. Really, I am all about crawling out of this stinking hole, and I think I am at least pointed in the right direction. The geographical purgatory will find an end this year, and there is at least one possibly interesting development stemming from a surprising source. So it's not all bad. But I think I'm in for another long year.