![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
2003 can eat my shorts...
Jan. 3rd, 2004 12:50 amI’ve been reading a lot of people’s posts about their year in review.
I feel the sadness and grief of people who’ve lost ones they love.
I feel the loss and frustration of car accidents and other forms of destruction and other deep financial trauma.
I feel the burden and uncertainty of illness.
I feel the emptiness at the end of relationships, and the exhilaration at the beginning of new ones.
I feel the excitement and anticipation of childbirth and watching children grow.
I feel the creative release of new works being revealed.
I feel truly happy for people who have good things happen to them.
I read all this and I feel like I can’t talk about my year because it means I have to talk about 2002, and about 2001. My grandma always told me if you can’t say something nice you shouldn’t say anything at all…
( So back here's 'What the Dot Com Crash and 9/11 meant to Me'. )
I had very few joys in 2003, certainly none I can thank 2003 for itself. I was thankful for the continued patience and support and love of my wonderful husband, and I was thankful for the health and growth and general existence of my beautiful son. I was in my heart grateful to my mother for keeping us alive. I was happy one of my cats finally got her life long wish to be the only cat in a household. I am grateful to my husband for getting a job here and getting us the hell out of “there” being both the economic and societal nightmare that is the US and my mom’s house. And I am grateful for time not heaving to a stop and letting us end this bloody mad cow of a year.
All hail the linear quality of time.
I truly believe now that despite how I might feel about it, I can survive just about anything. I described it to someone as feeling like “standing on the front porch of hell and turning back without opening the door.” That’s the closest I can come to describing it. I don’t feel like I chose to turn back, I just wasn’t forced in the door this time around. Almost passively I was lead away back to a lighter place. I don’t want to go back there again, but if I do, I’ll know to bring my mace.
I feel the sadness and grief of people who’ve lost ones they love.
I feel the loss and frustration of car accidents and other forms of destruction and other deep financial trauma.
I feel the burden and uncertainty of illness.
I feel the emptiness at the end of relationships, and the exhilaration at the beginning of new ones.
I feel the excitement and anticipation of childbirth and watching children grow.
I feel the creative release of new works being revealed.
I feel truly happy for people who have good things happen to them.
I read all this and I feel like I can’t talk about my year because it means I have to talk about 2002, and about 2001. My grandma always told me if you can’t say something nice you shouldn’t say anything at all…
( So back here's 'What the Dot Com Crash and 9/11 meant to Me'. )
I had very few joys in 2003, certainly none I can thank 2003 for itself. I was thankful for the continued patience and support and love of my wonderful husband, and I was thankful for the health and growth and general existence of my beautiful son. I was in my heart grateful to my mother for keeping us alive. I was happy one of my cats finally got her life long wish to be the only cat in a household. I am grateful to my husband for getting a job here and getting us the hell out of “there” being both the economic and societal nightmare that is the US and my mom’s house. And I am grateful for time not heaving to a stop and letting us end this bloody mad cow of a year.
All hail the linear quality of time.
I truly believe now that despite how I might feel about it, I can survive just about anything. I described it to someone as feeling like “standing on the front porch of hell and turning back without opening the door.” That’s the closest I can come to describing it. I don’t feel like I chose to turn back, I just wasn’t forced in the door this time around. Almost passively I was lead away back to a lighter place. I don’t want to go back there again, but if I do, I’ll know to bring my mace.
