Just a song before I go...

I guess 2008 is ending with me in a better place than where I started: Borders! No, seriously, I am sitting here with an unfortunate case of massive writers' block, unusual since I finally have some time and space to make a dent in this book o'mine. But honestly, I'm a little tired/stunted/not in the mood to relive these events, so I'm stalling for the moment.

Anyway, I am definitely tired right now, having had the demon methotrexate this morning (and as a result, the naughty beast nephews for whom I babysat this AM are getting a lot of mileage out of the shot in the butt) and also knowing it's a matter of time before I'm too tired, nauseous and generally wiped out to do much more than crash on the couch in front of whatever Law and Order permutation is on NBC tonight. But even more than that, I'm tired by the notion of writing this story, of making a hated entity come to life on paper, of reexamining the futility of those events, and having to remember a truly painful and bewildering time. But, it's a great story, worth the writing, and certainly worth the potential selling.

So the year comes to an end tomorrow, and fortunately, this does not mean that at sunset, I am in for six hours of singing with four to follow in the morning, which is a good thing. I'll take Seacrest over some of the high holiday liturgy if I have to. Especially since I am about as big a fan of the October holidays as I am of New Year's Eve. What a crap excuse for people to get wasted and act like a collective horse's ass, freeze their idiocy off in Times Square, and make others miserable because of some post-20th century expectation of sentimentality and perfection? (Whoa, how's that for some pretentious sociological nonsense?) All of which is to say I'm not a fan of NYE, haven't really had a good one since I was young enough to believe in the nonsense, having gotten completely hammered at some dive Irish bar in the city and ended up at Veselka's or somewhere like that, after having slept on someone's floor for about three hours. Anyway that was a long time ago, in another country, and besides, the wench is dead.

Or not dead yet. So here's the tally on '08: 42 pounds lost, four sizes down, two hundred points of blood sugar up, 48 methotrexate injections, six months without regular Coca-cola (still killing me), four births (not mine), two engagements (also not mine), two funerals, six shiva minyans, three bags of frozen tortellini, two Shabbat services, six high holiday services, one Torah aliyah (gotta do better in 09 with that), three chapters, one deferment, five days in California, two dinner parties, fourteen active contracts, one BlackBerry, seven trips to Toys R Us, one personal shopping session, twelve Intro classes, too many episodes of classic Law and Order, and many, but still too few, adventures with the people I love.

Not a bad run, all told. And having hopefully eased the writer's block, I should get back to work; the hours are dwindling and the story remains untold. But here's to a New Year, a new beginning, fewer defenses, more laughter, a new administration, less war, happier times, and lasting peace.

Shalom.