It has been a week since my first time on an operating table since 1969. Richard Nixon, the bent crook, was President and I was 10. It was a surgery to have my gall bladder removed, which, of course, had nothing to do with my emergency room visit 38 days earlier, but we’ll get to that in a while.
2016. Or maybe I should go all AP Stylebook and write it out. Twenty-sixteen. Or, as a friend of mine put it, twenty-fucking-sixteen. A year of loss. Gut-wrenching loss. Of being confused and lied to and about. A year of being punched in the gut so much you became almost numb to it.
Death, loss and defeat. That was the theme of the past year. From David Bowie to Debbie Reynolds, we lost many legendary performers in 2016 (and just the other day, Mary Tyler Moore), that shock turned to resignation when it happened. That we lost all that talent and creativity made it very hard to take.
And then came November 8. The day we all expected history to be made. Just like eight years prior. And it was made, but not in the way we expected. I was so shocked that Trump won, I thought it was a bad dream. Except I don’t dream anymore. So, we elected “The Mad Twitter,” because of Hillary Clinton’s emails or Bill Clinton’s blowjob or healthcare or racism or getting the black guy out of the White House. Either way, we have a new President who doesn’t know jack shit about anything. But he likes to spread the lies. El Pesidente’ del Mar-A-Lago sure does a lot of that.
Then there are those everyday people who you know or think you know until you find out they’re full of it. Whether they are local or from Thousand Oaks, California or the United Kingdom, you think you know someone, but you don’t. Lies and deception and hiding behind a set of arbitrarily set of standards is like firing someone a day before you have to give a reason. You think you’ve gotten away with it, until its’ found out. Whether its generosity taken a bit too far, a dragged out version of “Spanish Prisoner” (where the truth isn’t revealed until it has to be) or having your sponsorship removed because of some impossible-to-meet standards, it still stinks.
And then I got sick. Sicker than I’ve been since I was a kid. Fell out of my bed three times, had to crawl out to the living room on my back to get to my phone once. Went to the hospital, I was diagnosed with bronchitis and acute diarrhea. Two distinctly different problems, seemingly unrelated. Spent the night, they couldn’t figure out what was causing my diarrhea, so they did an ultrasound. Found out I had gall-stones. Had to cancel a trip to Vegas. Had to get on the Doctor-go-round. My regular Doctor gave me steroids for my bronchitis, another one gave me conflicting information on whether or not I needed surgery. It got to be a bit much. So, after a second visit with my primary doctor, he gave me to a surgeon and I had it done a week ago. Yes, on purpose so I wouldn’t have to witness the Libidinous Nutcase become president*
So ends one of the worst years of my life. This year marks the 50th anniversary of the worst year of my life. So far, even with the surgery, it looks to be pretty normal. The Lions still haven’t won a playoff game since 1992, there’s a massive sinkhole in Fraser that no one seems to know how to fix, but the state wants to cancel Daylight Savings Time. Just what we sent them to Lansing for. To fix the big things. I might have to start buying bottled water, but hey, as long as the DeVos’ and Nestle’ keep getting their way, nothing to worry about, right? Another year to look forward to.
Can I please have a do-over?