In so many ways this has been a good year, a year of some progress, some good things, some good breaks, some good friends. If it doesn’t feel like it, that is because these last few months are like a vast pool of helplessness. It is the hardest thing, not being able to do anything, not being able to change anything. Tomorrow is the last day of the year and I can’t find any optimism for it, I’m just too scared right now, too frustrated, too wary of false promises. A few of the people closest to me right now are struggling. So I whip out my most supportive face, do what I can, and brace for impact. That wouldn’t be so bad, except that there is nothing I can do, and all I can do is watch all this warp their lives, and mine too.
I can’t write. You’ve seen it – I’m barely here, absentminded&bodied. Because what can I say? The story’s not mine, and all the rest seems so irrelevant. Yet I think it would help to write, to talk (though maybe not here, this being a public place; and not necessarily about the problems). I talk some, I suppose. I’ve had some really great support (you find it in the strangest places). It’s been such a crazy time; it reminds me of the Bad Time in Hungary when I was going from one hospital to the next and no one explained anything, because it reminds me of a person’s capability to live by the Kafka-esque rules of crises. It also reminds me that the hardest part is not the crisis, but the bit that comes after it.
So here’s my plan for tomorrow: I will lock myself in, get some good food (sushi&pizza&Indian!) and some hot comforting thing (hot chocolate?) and a cold comforting thing (champagne!) and I will watch In the Bleak Midwinter. Then I’ll watch The Fast Show and Star Trek TNG. Then The Muppets Christmas Carol. And then I’m watching In the Bleak Midwinter again. And to hell with the stupid celebration.