It's going to take more than a few *accidental narcotics overdoses to kill The Offbeat Drummer for good.
Alas, we've come to the end of 2012. My ex-husband & I both lost our jobs. I turned 40. I upset a lot of apple carts. I made people uncomfortable. I played drums. Luke rocked & grew like 5", & never did finish Kant's "Critique of Pure Reason." Got a few tattoos & more piercings. I finished 25% of a masters degree. Had a couple of surgeries. Icky shit went down and I was annoyingly stalked for months by the office asshole brigade who used to work with me. Your usual year of rejection, deflection and unnecessary but unavoidable heartache. In 2013, I don't foresee it being much more than the same shit as 2012, minus perhaps the surgeries, with the addition of more gut-wrenching music, another semester of school & ringing things in tonight at home with my mother watching "One Few Over the Cuckoo's Nest" and NOT being drunk.
Not one to make or keep resolutions, next year, I should probably exercise more, cuss less & learn not to let incidental crap over which I have zero control affect my moods either positively or negatively, because I tend to live my life perpetually walking a tightrope. Eh, fuck it. What people without serious mood disorders fail to recognize in people WITH mood disorders is that, especially during the holidays, and the Ultimate Shitfest that is New Year's Eve, the normal people try to convince the sick people as to how wonderfully they're doing, while the sick person silently slaps his/herself with a taut, "You fucking idiot. You can't even successfully pull THAT off," THAT being an operative term for any number of destructive things.
Raise a glass, it's Monday.
*Or were they?
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