Here’s the story of 2015, family, and not my testicles.
IT’S TWENTY SIXTEEN, YOU EEJITS! I’ve decided to take a look back at my first post of 2015, and it’s immediately apparent that several of my predictions failed to come true. One being the year. Oh, that did happen. But, it’s twenty sixteen. I have no idea what year ‘two thousand and sixteen’ is supposed to be, because that year doesn’t exist. It literally makes no sense whatsoever. Maybe people are confused. Or maybe they’re just not right in the head. I mean, every single human said ‘eighteen fourteen’ back in the year 1814, didn’t they? Yes, they did. And every single human said ‘nineteen fifteen’ back in the year 1915, didn’t they? Yes, well done! They did indeed, my precious little munchkins. So, logic dictates that twenty comes after nineteen and that sixteen comes after fifteen. Right? Am I the only one seeing that? No? Ah, good. Because it really does seem that way. I know I was complaining about this at the start of 2015, and I sound like a broken record repeating myself, but it’s really not the case. You pronounce the year how you want darlings, just so long as you remember that anything other than twenty sixteen COULD NOT BE MORE BLOODY WRONG YOU BLOODY FRICKIN’ LUNATICS! Oh, and happy new year…
I complained about being terrified that I was nearly 25, and I’m now 25, and I can assure you, I was right. I am ridiculously old, and my message to future me, reading back on this in 2017, is that you are so old I can’t even fathom it at this point. Twenty six! YEARS old! Good gravy, how did that happen! I still feel like a youth, but I’m not one anymore. Oh, sorry, drat. I forgot. I probably have some of the two thousand and sixteen mob reading. When I say twenty six, which is grammatically correct, what I mean is two six. Happy? Yes? Ah, grand.
I complained about never being kissed or having engaged in a bit of rumpy-pumpy with the fairer sex. Yeah, sorry, that still hasn’t happened. Not that I’ve made a great deal of effort to ensure that those things will happen, but still, I still sit here desperate for those things to happen and a bit saddened by the fact that I’ll be reading this in 2017 knowing they still haven’t happened. And a year older! Aint that smashing? Of course, knowing my luck, my situation will probably be worse by then. My genitals will probably have fallen off by then due to lack of use…
I said I had dreams of becoming a knitter and I was worried I was pregnant. Do I always sound that crazy? Hmm, I can assure you that the thoughts in my head sound like a soothing symphony most of the time. Why did I think I was pregnant? Ah, now I see. I thought an alien had harvested one of my testicles, got one of the aliens pregnant and what I was feeling was a sympathetic pregnancy. Oh, well, all that sounds perfectly normal.
I complained about the fireworks. There were more this year. There were high winds last year so not that many then. That said, it’s still been a pretty rough end to the year. Many storms, lots of damage and lots of severe flooding, right across northern England. Everyone has been affected and you can only hope it gets better for them in the coming weeks and months. The generosity of strangers in these times almost brought a tear to my eye. Humanity may have a horrific shadow looming over it after the events of 2015, but there are bright lights beneath it that will never be extinguished.
I celebrated New Years the same way as always. Judging by what I wrote back at the start of 2015. Me bringing old coal, bread, money and tinfoil in through the front door, a tradition my dear granddad started. We had a party popper fight, did me, mum and dad. That was fun. And we pulled some crackers. And dad nearly made me wet myself with the single two worst charades in history…
I also mentioned that mum was off to Amsterdam for her birthday and that she really wanted to try some cannabis. She didn’t but there are very few cafés and restaurants there where you can escape the disgusting hippy smoke. She went in one restaurant where they offered her some complimentary pot on the house, which, in my eyes, is a horrible glimpse into some hellish dystopian future that I hope never arrives in this country.
They’re off to climes that are more sensible this year. Denmark, I think, in a couple weeks. Ah, free of hippies and their poison. My kinda place. Shame I’m not going, but I’m busy with work experience. Didn’t manage to get a job in 2015, sadly, as my endless search carries on. Been to a few interviews, though. Getting very scary now, actually, but I’m enjoying my work experience in a radio station. It’s good for me. Starting to go crazy cooked up in a house all day long…
I also made a resolution or two. No, wait, one. To stop biting my fingernails. I did it! For about a month. Oh, I was so proud. I had all these lovely shiny and long fingernails, and I just couldn’t resist. They’ve all gone now. I made a new resolution to stop biting them in 2016, but that only lasted about three minutes. You can stop on a conscious level, but subconsciously, it’s impossible. You don’t know you’re doing it half the time.
I guess it wasn’t all bad, though. Until December of last year, I had never had a friend in my life. Not one. No one seems to like me a great deal. I’m still painfully shy and suffer from a small degree of social anxiety, which makes life fairly unbearable on some days. But I made a friend. Somehow. And a baby was born in March. My second nephew. I’m uncle for a second time. He lives down in Australia but I got to meet him. Didn’t like me very much. Cried every time I picked him up and threw up on me a few times. Quite a few babies in my family act like that with me. I think they’re trying to tell me something…
But, like I hoped, my nephew is healthy, happy and utterly gorgeous.
Of course, there is an elephant in the room. Not literally, that would be terrifying. Oh, well, unless it was a baby one. Aww, I want a baby elephant. Sorry, what were we talking about? Ah, yes. Terror. I wrote in my first post of 2015 this line, ‘Let’s hope this year is less violent – we all pray for peace.’ Oh, man, I could not have been more wrong. What a horrific year we’ve had. Violence and mayhem, terror and panic. Even the most steely and resolute folk are scared. We all say we’ll be defiant and proclaim this through social media and all these fancy hashtags. But we all know something. Something we all feel. Something nobody will admit to. We’re all scared. I know we are but nobody is admitting to it. But I think that’s okay. The world is a scary place. And I’ll admit it. I’ve never been this frightened in my life.
But you carry on, don’t you? What else can you do? You get up, you get changed, you go to work and you come home to those you love. And yeah, you might not come home one day or that person you love might not. And yeah, we’re all scared. But fear is and always has been a part of life. Life is for living. My predictions of a peaceful year didn’t come true, but that doesn’t matter. Sure, we all pray for peace. It’s very important. As is not retaliating with violent words and violent actions against those who hurt us. But something else that is important is the life we lead. And if you make it a good one, when you leave this world, you’ll be remembered. Death galvanises us and makes us stronger. Memories are our soul and that will never die. And these things ensure that no amount of terror will ever defeat us and our spirit. So I hope 2016 is at least a bit better for us. And once again, I’ll hope it’s less violent and more peaceful. Perhaps naïve, but if I didn’t hope and pray for those things, then I’d be giving up. And no one should ever give up. Ever.
As for me, in 2016, oh, man, I don’t know what’s gonna happen. Oh, in a wonderful world I’d hope for a good paying job. A small house or an apartment. A girlfriend. No more virginity and no more shyness. To start my life. Finally. Now, none of those things are gonna happen, because it really does feel like the world is against me, but, I’m not giving up. And that’s my message for 2016. Always hope for the best and never give up.
Oh, and if you have a job going in the northeast area of England, please, give me a call. I mean, I’m easy. 40 grand a year. Hey, 30. That’s reasonable, right?
He, he, he…
British American-born essayist, publisher, playwright, literary and social critic, Thomas Eliot (1888-1965), once wrote: ‘For last year’s words belong to last year’s language, and next year’s words await another voice.’
Peace Out :|:
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