Fuck Off, 2012

2012 was one of the worst years of my life; a stinking cesspool of utter suckitude, punctuated by a diarrhea typhoon shooting from the assholes of a million flatulent gorillas.

2012 was a festering, bloated whale corpse washed on the beach, one whose fetid miasma causes you to violently projectile vomit Cheetos at Baby Jesus.

2012 was so utterly awful, so mind-numbingly rank and disgusting, that spending 365 days in a windowless room watching “The Human Centipede” on an endless loop while engaging in a three-way with Courtney Love and Amy Winehouse’s rotting cadaver would seem like a glorious respite in comparison.

2012, you can go fuck yourself.

Hard.

Sans the lube.

This year was filled with loss, not just for me, but for my friends. It’s one thing when you’re at the end of a karmic ass-whipping, but when your friends are pulled into the vortex of misfortune, that’s something altogether different. It’s a cosmic conspiracy. A real galactic screwing, where bad things happen to good people and where Donald Trump becomes Dictator and Hierophant of Earth.

This year, my friends lost spouses, pets and parents. Some were involved in accidents and required surgery. Others found themselves out of work or still desperately searching for employment.

For me, 2012 was where I played Russian roulette with my health. I’d been feeling slightly off for months, and experienced random pains and illness. In February, I was hit with a stomach virus. March saw me tired with headaches. In April, I was stressed at work – really stressed – and my health began declining. Because of the stress, in May I developed shingles, an experience I don’t recommend. In June I began having temporary pains in my forehead. My doctor prescribed blood pressure medication and I’ve been taking that every day. It seemed to be working in the beginning, because my blood pressure registered as normal for the first time in years.

Yay! I’m a fat fuck!

Yay! I’m at death’s door!

My girlfriend tells me I’m just a hypochondriac. I might even exhibit random Munchausen syndrome if I remember to.

In July, my girlfriend developed a respiratory illness. She was sick for a month, wheezing and coughing. She even needed an inhaler to help her breathe. Rarely does she get sick, but this hit her like a ton of anvils.

My cat, Smuttynose, had fleas. The little biters got him and he was miserable in September. Poor kitty had to have a few baths, take a special pill and have ointment put on his back.

This was the year I saw a few concerts, a rarity because my financial situation doesn’t normally allow me to leave the house except to forage for food. Entertainment is quite scarce in my life, but this year I saw the Go-Go’s in concert, and went to live performances by comedians Eddie Pepitone and Louis C.K. I also saw a few movies, which is also a rarity for me.

Traveled to a few conventions this year, most notably to GenCon in Indianapolis, where I briefly spoke with Wil Wheaton about gaming, especially the games Reality Blurs published. Spoke on a panel at GenCon about the upcoming Ravaged Earth revised edition. Also spoke about the gaming industry at PhilCon, a smallish science fiction convention in Cherry Hill. This marked my eighth year attending PhilCon and my fifth GenCon.

Me and a few friends saw the film "The Room" live. "The Room" is like "The Rocky Horror Picture Show" if you're a hipster and enjoy throwing spoons at the screen. It probably was one of the year's highlights, an indication as to how horrible 2012 was.

Hurricane Sandy proved to be the most significant event of 2012 for me. Losing most of my furniture, books, clothing and possessions and being forced from my apartment changed me. My life plodded along nonchalantly. I was simply existing, pouring my life into a regular routine. Yet the hurricane propelled me from that hum-drum life and set me on another course. I wasn’t merely existing anymore. Now I had to survive. I had to dig deep inside myself and let the reality suddenly sink in so I could cope with what had happened. I shifted into a grim, survivalist mode. I did what I needed to do; packed up everything, transported it into a storage facility, and relocated myself within a few days.

Everything I lost, all I had to discard, I shut off my emotions beforehand. I didn’t need sentimentality, depression or sorrow. The general feeling I had was one of annoyance. I was helpless, really, because Mother Nature’s swift hands throttled my world and set it askew. Mercilessly, the storm saturated my furnishings and some belongings. Some stuff did survive unscathed, and I’m amazed what made it and what didn’t.

After the flood waters receded, after the wreckage and debris were piled in heaps, as curious onlookers peered at the utter devastation, we slowly began to reorient ourselves and became grounded once more.

I couldn’t have packed or moved without my girlfriend’s assistance. She helped immensely with organizing and storing my belongings.

She’s the brightest spot in a year filled with strife and bullshit.

See, in June, she moved in with me. Before she walked into my life, I barely held it together. Life seemed like one arduous line at the DMV, a frustrating experience surrounded by a plethora of idiots. She moved in and has been keeping me sane ever since.

I might not be the greatest writer on the planet (nor the most successful or widely read), but I can be a good friend for her. She tells me she loves me every day, chirping it out with a smile.

She lightens my world.

I finally have a loving and caring person in my life, one who accepts me for all my foibles and other weird shit. We laugh together and hold hands. When she peers at me with her almond eyes, everything is beautiful.

2012 was a year of losses and wins. I won a second place award in the New Jersey Better Newspaper Contest for a features story I wrote on Prohibition. I’m a steadfast fan of history.

In other news, after many months of creative blockage, I wrote a short story. It's called "Return of the Crimson Sentinel" and it's about former pulp vigilantes who get back into crime fighting for one fateful night. It's poignant, funny and bittersweet. 

As the past 12 shitty months wrap up, I eagerly await 2013 for the promise it brings.

Will next year be filled with opportunity, good health, happiness and fortune, or will it be one dreadful shitfest 2012 was?

Take care, my frazzled doom-monkeys! See you in 2013, when the future actually begins.