Once again, despite the best of intentions, I did not get a Christmas letter out this year.
Here it is:
Dearest friends and family,
Yet, another year has gone by, and I’m just realizing that there’s no way this would make it to your mailbox in time. My apologies for being late—again.
I have trouble with time. It’s either at a standstill or moving so fast, I can’t possibly keep up.
Please believe me when I say, it’s not you, it’s me.
2018 has been a fairly eventful year. I left a job I loved for a job that was ok. I left nasty customers and great management for a place with wonderfully nice customers and terrible management. After 8 months, I realized, I’d made a mistake and went back to nasty customers and great management.
I continued dating to no avail, but being alone and happy is still better than settling for someone I don’t want because I can’t stand to be alone.
You’ll be happy to hear that I did not acquire any new pets in the past year. In fact, I’d probably be ok to lose a couple pets. Noah, my Addison’s dog still requires a shot once a month and Brandy still has cataracts and bad knees—she also snores like a 300 pound sailor.
Luci, my cat baby is now 3 and still won’t come near me until I’m sleeping. Then, she likes to climb up my body to my face and boop me in the nose until I awake and pet her. She loves me.
Mittens continues to be the comedian of the house—always struggling to jump and sliding down the wall, the side of the couch, the side of the bed. Mittens is the only cat I’ve ever seen that has absolutely no grace. But, she likes to sit with me, or stare at me, and purr incessantly, so that’s good.
Hunter continues to do well in Wahpeton as an officer in FFA and now he’s in Decca. I’m very proud of the young man he’s growing into. He’s a senior and will graduate this year.
Again, where does time go?
As for me, I’ve not published anything new this year, but it’s fun to see my one book of poetry that was rejected everywhere else in so many different languages. I’ll do another as soon as time slows down and I can catch my breath.
Or, maybe once I realize it’s at a standstill and I can simply write for years at a time.
I hope you are all doing well.
I miss you.
Merry Christmas. And have a peaceful and happy new year.
And now, the reason I don’t do Christmas letters:
Dad continues to fight cancer. He has the strength I can only hope for one day. I’m not prepared to lose him and he’s not going anywhere soon. I pray for one more day with him on the pontoon or at the golf course.
Hunter’s Dad is a horrible parent. He always was. That’s one of many reasons I divorced him, but my child (one and only), continues to do well in spite of it. He’s strong like his mom.
I decided to get well this year.
I went to doctors and was referred for mental health help.
I was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder, an anxiety disorder and a recurrent severe depression disorder.
It’s all ok. We’re ok. I’m ok. The only thing separating me from the masses that relate to me is that I went for help and decided I’d pay for it—even if it takes a lifetime.
I hope you also seek the help you need. I hope in the coming year, you decide you’re worth it. I hope you will all rise from the ashes prepared to fight for you and yours.