Whatever it Takes.

12/28/18

Yes, I've co-opted a screen shot from "8-Mile", since I just re-watched it again. It's a good story about not giving up, finding/feeding your passion, moving on through life's shit and disappointment. And trying to stay optimistic and functional in an increasingly dysfunctional world. Plus of course, there's the music and the Battles. And Battling has been what I've felt like I've been doing this last month. Battling to get through the holidays unscathed; keeping my kids unscathed, at least the best that I can. It's been a 15 Round Battle, though I know heavyweight fights are 12 rounders now for the most part. But no, sorry, this has been 15 rounds, with New Years still to come to finish out my emotional arena brawl of 2018.

We've tried to keep some semblance of rituals, between Chinatown for Thanksgiving; observing Hanukkah, (though I did cop out and made "giant pan-sized latkes" that could be divided up, like pizza-style slices, per a Globe recipe I saw); Xmas tree also went up as Abby would've wanted and was decorated as a tag-team event that certainly could be added to the Holiday Olympics as a worthy competition. And finally comes New Year's Eve, the Grand Poobah of nights-we-wish we-could-skip-and-not-be-depressed-by. Just pull the rock over the cave, as Abby liked to say. Or in my case, just hide under the rock.

So far, I've only had a few minor breakdowns during this joyous stretch of The Most Wonderful Time of the Year. Unfortunately, they tend to come at times when I least expect it. I'm not saying I've broken down in the Whole Food's aisle except when I see that cucumbers are now $1.29 a pop, and that's not for organic mind you. No, no breakdowns there. My favorite places so far have been the car, the kitchen, my bedroom, and the shower, which is actually a pretty good place for a breakdown I've discovered, because the tears and snot just get washed away, bye-bye sweet sorrow, down the drain you go. No muss, no fuss, and between the shower noise and the radio I have playing in the bathroom, it's my dirty (clean?) little secret when it happens to happen.

My friends, and family, have of course been omnipresent, especially mindful these past weeks, and have been good about keeping me away from fun things like high bridges, nooses, firearms, Xacto knives, and all those things we see in movies that are capable of bringing an untimely demise. Yes, of course I'm kidding, and if you could off yourself just with macabre thoughts well I would've been in line to replace Harold in "Harold and Maude" years ago (you have to admit, he did get lots of points for style though). Knowing myself better than anyone, short of Abby, I have to be able to deal with my situation with humor in order to stay sane; otherwise it's just too depressing. And I have to tell 'ya, it seems like half the world's depressed these days. I don't know if it's the political divide, holiday pressure(s), short days and gray skies- whatever. But I see a lot of sad faces walking around, dragging their lifeless, humorless, almost boneless bodies with them. I'm not saying that there aren't plenty of people with real problems, real issues, some I'm sure that are much worse than mine. But Abby was such a positive person and she certainly turned me from a Negative Nelly hard-core pessimist into a full-fledged almost sorta optimistic guy who at least (mostly) recognized when he was going down the darkness-on-the-edge-of-town tunnel. In other words, it helped me immensely, and I would've been ill-prepared to deal with the last two years if I hadn't had a large well of optimism to dip into and pull from. The well hasn't exactly run dry, but it certainly needs some replenishing, and maybe I'll need a dousing rod to find my way from here, who the f*ck knows?

As I contemplate New Years Eve (NYE), and the options available, it's hard to know what to do. Abby was sick last year, so it's not like I had this awesome night last December 31st. And honestly, NYE is just another holiday that gets way too much hype and attention, and is virtually guaranteed to let you down, like the Sox used to do, unless your expectations are about as low as that last limbo pole you tried to get under. I have options, and I'm sure I'll hang with friends, and wherever we end up we'll have an ok time. I did consider asking my doc to give me a happy little sleeping pill that I could take at 6pm NYE and wake up refreshed the next day in time to watch the B's play in the Winter Classic. But no, I did not do that- seemed the coward's way out, (at least for me), as I don't want to coward-shame anyone here.

The New Year brings new challenges, in terms of turning the calendar, and in me trying to find a job besides my teaching gig at Emerson. I actually worked a full-week freelance gig at an ad agency a couple of weeks ago; talk about going from 0-60 in record time and getting myself back into Art Director shape quickly. It went "eh"- always hard to be the new guy and get thrown to the wolves for a week of work hunting down projects on company server's and designing things from wisps of other people's ideas. Yet all was ok until Thursday, when I got chewed out by the Creative Director in a very open concept floor plan. The art director who I was working for had been out for two days, and I was following his lead. Until then I wasn't, because the CD had me redo everything I'd been working on for the last two days, telling me I was using the wrong images/artwork; this despite the fact that I was just following orders and had emails and notes to back it up. Didn't matter. So through a tension-filled afternoon, which of course was just what the doctor ordered for me, I redid everything. That was after I took a break from when my belittling was done and calmly walked out for a cooling off period. And I did what I normally would do- picked up my phone to call Abby. Oops.

Now I must say, that experience was far, far worse than getting reamed for something that wasn't my fault. I've actually picked up my phone more than once to absentmindedly text Abby about something, because that's something you do, or I did, by rote. Let me tell you, it sucks the wad. It reaches in and grabs you by the pit of your stomach, gives you a couple of shots to the solar-plexus, and leaves you breathless on the ground. Ok, maybe not the ground because it would've been really weird if I dropped to my knees in the middle of a hallway (there's a quick way to never get a call from a recruiter again) and writhed in pain, unless I had an acceptable case of appendicitis or some sort of provable kidney stone. But it's something I will never forget, that feeling of loss all over again, just as real as the day she passed. I've had a couple of very realistic dreams where Abby and I were together doing whatever it was- having fun, eating, talking, walking I don't know- then you wake up, and they're not there. It's like the walls suddenly cave in for a minute or two, then the dust clears and there you are alone. All over again.

Of course, I never like to leave you all in a depressive state of mind (please reread paragraph four if necessary) as I've mentioned there are too many sad sacks Walking Dead among us already. I have plenty of good moments, good days and/or nights too. Not sure about good weeks though; that may be pushing it a bit much. There's still happiness in my life; greatly tempered to be sure, but happiness nonetheless. And with that, I leave you with a smile and a short joke I heard recently.

Q: What's worse than waking up at a party and finding a penis drawn on your face? A: Finding out it was traced.

My takeaway: try and look on the bright side- it can always be worse. In the above case, it could've been drawn with a Sharpie.

And BTW, that Creative Director and the Art Director both apologized to me the next morning- I had been right after all. A little too late to save my dignity entirely, but I'll take what I can get.

Love and confetti for the New Year,

Craig