Auld Lang Syne

I like New Years. For one minute the future days are laid out before me like a field of untouched, virginal white snow...

then somebody’s dog takes a shit on it, an inebriated reveler barfs on it and some drunk girl throws herself to the ground, crying over some undeserving boy...

...*THAT* minute is perfectly hopeful; absolutely percolating with possibility.

I used to have the following resolutions every single year:

1. Drink a case of bourbon a month.
2. Smoke 3 packs a day.
3. Gain 30 lbs.
4. Develop a heroin habit
5. Default on my Visa payments.

I certainly failed by noon January 1. I would be content in knowing it was a better thing NOT to have gone through with what I had resolved to do and I would just carry on my merry way through the following year.

I have never really had a goal. With no real talents on which to build a life and being more interested in rejecting reality and substituting my own, setting goals beyond “Don’t be late for work tomorrow” or “Go get a haircut on Saturday” has proved… challenging.

I have never had a life goal or a plan – I just sort of rolled with the experiences and opportunities that presented themselves.

(This is how I ended up married – both times.)
(This is how I ended up living with drag queens.)
(In fact, this is how I ended up in every place I have ever lived.)
(This is also how I ended up in every job I have ever had.)

(I think you get the point.)

I have spent most of 2010 trying to figure out my future… what will I be doing and where will I be when I find myself?

Been avoiding this post

Look at the date.

Now look at the name of this blog.

Now back to the date.

Now back to the title.

This is the date that your blog would be titled if you were me and you had been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis on 12 December 2008.


So, yeah. It's my MS-a-versary. Two years.

Not as angry as I was, but still very, very angry.

Still not okay. Still very depressed. Still very much aware that my life has been limited by my disease and my future.

I have two of the three "worst-case scenario" symptoms. If I end up with uncontrollable nerve pain, please someone kill me. I've lost my memory and *TMI WARNING* consistent control of my bladder (yeah, you needed to know that!) so all I need to be is constant pain to have no real reason to go on living.

I'm in the testing phase with a urologist and depending on the outcome of a bladder function test in January we'll know if it can be treated.

I spend a great deal of my day being ashamed and embarrassed. I've barely told Joe about this. Thankfully he's been busy, busy, busy with school for three months so barely talking to him or seeing him helps cut back in the potential for embarrassing moments with my malfunctioning organs.

Two years with this disease and I still feel like I've been robbed. I'm now fairly certain that isn't going to change. I still know that it could be worse. I'm acutely aware that it probably will get worse. And no, I'm not grateful that it's not worse now. The more I have now means I will have more to lose later. I am pretty sure I don't want to lose any more than I already have.

I would have killed myself 18 months ago if Joe hadn't told me he was sticking it out when I asked him if he wanted to leave. The promises and commitments I made to Joe when we decided to get married a little less than 6 years ago are the only thing that keeps me from killing myself now. My husband is the best husband in the history of all husbands and as such deserves a much better life. I'm doing everything in my power to make sure that happens for him.

At two and half years after my first symptoms, this is the best I can do. Under my old standards, it's not good enough or enough effort. I know this when I look around my house and take stock of my life, but then I remember that MS means I have to not set the bar so high.

That's what this second year with MS has been all about... lowering my expectations. I'm never going to finish what I start or keep up with my own standards.

Maybe if I just start accepting that I won't feel like a failure every single day of my life.

Warning:

"No Inspirational Life Lessons Will Be Found In These Pages"

That is the disclaimer on the front cover of David Rakoff's "Half Empty".

"In this deeply funny memoir, David Rakoff examines his own life and the realities of our sunny, gosh-everyone-can-be-a-star contemporary culture. He finds that, pretty much as a universal rule, the best is not yet to come, adversity will triumph, justice will not be served, and your dreams won't come true."

I need to read this book.

That time of year.

It is December. It's around this time of year that I start pawing through my notes, scribblings, ranting and ravings of the past 11 months to see what I was thinking, where I was hoping to be at this time, and discover just how miserably I have failed myself.

December is like a month of Mondays.

I came within three breaths of quitting my job today to go and file a human rights complaint. This man is clearly out of his element in the modern world. While I generally respect my elders, I do not respect anyone who screams and yells when they don't like what they are being told - like the truth is some sort of conspiracy designed by lazy, incompetent people to keep him from having what he wants. I have had two double vodkas, a lovely meal of lobster ravioli and my Habs won 5-1 over the Devils but still my heart is pounding under a chest so heavy it feels as though a small child is standing on it.

The good news is tomorrow is Friday. Saturday I have brow, hair and nail appointments. I only need to buy two more gifts and I am done shopping. Joe is buying his own present and taking care of his dad's present. I am in charge of my mum, his mum and my dad. My Sunday trip to GotCraft? should take care of our collective mums. Mmm, crafts.

Since we only have to buy 4 gifts, xmas ain't that complicated or even expensive around here. Since I don't believe in god, there's no tree, decorations or cards either. Just Chinese food on xmas day. My favourite seasonal song is "Dick in a Box", for the record.

This post doesn't really have an ending.