Rollin' Like Sisyphus

When The Going Gets Tough, Quit. When Life Gives You Lemons, Quit. When You Just Need To Hang In There Till Friday, Quit.

Posted in The Fail Pail by Huckleberry on December 6, 2012

Fiscal Cliff is getting pretty tired of paying for Norm's beer tab. Plus, if you really want to see the "Fiscal Cliff," look up, and slightly behind you...

Fiscal Cliff is getting pretty tired of paying for Norm’s beer tab. Plus, if you really want to see the “Fiscal Cliff,” look up, and slightly behind you…


It’s December, officially on the calendar and everything, so of course thoughts turn to decline, death, and other dread tidings of the Winter of Our Discontents. The weather’s turnin’ here, like everywhere.

I had to pull out a light sweatshirt from the back of the coat closet, which of course contains no actual coats, to protect myself from the frigid, blustery 68 degree daily temperature.

Brrr.

This is going to be another one of those complain-y, self-pitying sob-fests that would be better placed on daytime network television, but there is nothing to be done about it now. Just walk across the ol’ rope bridge and don’t look down, or take your off-ramp here.

If anyone here was laying bets on how long it would take for the “stalwart” GOP to fold like cheap laundry on the “Fiscal Cliff” that was an awesome compromise deal in 2011 but is going to kill us all in 2012, I hope you picked the day after never. Even though both sides want pretty much the same things, they want to do it in their own shades of gray, or grey even, and it’s really just two junkies haggling over who’ll fellate the dealer for another speedball. For a film allegory, imagine the disturbing scene from Pulp Fiction when Bruce Willis et al are in the basement of the pawn shop.
Zed is the O-Force.
The Gimp is Boehner and the House GOP, just hoping for a taste of the action.
And you know who Marcellus Wallace looks like here, right?
Us.
And we DO look like a bitch.
And no, Bruce Willis isn’t going to save us.
In this allegory, he’s all asses and elbows running away down the street.

Anyway, I’m tired of talking about this crap.

A quick look back at the posts of 2012 here show that it’s almost entirely about political things, which is funny, given how little I really care about politics. Actually, it’s not funny, because most of those posts are just overly long textual masturbation sessions employing as many different ways to say “I don’t care” as I could possibly muster. And yet, here it is, a body of work that is more than useless.

Sure, they dismiss day-old newspapers as fish-wrap and birdcage lining, but at least that accomplishes the crucial tasks of lining birdcages and wrapping fish. If I could do anything with these blog posts that had half that utility, I’d really be cooking with butter, but no. This effluvia is the very model of a modern major vaginal cavity – kind of fun to think about, but when you break it down, there’s really nothing there.

Thanksgiving just passed, and for some reason, many more people than usual went out of their way to tell me how thankful they are for this or that, with a palpable urgency, as if they were trying to convince me of the fact rather than just tell it to me. I don’t think 2012 has been especially kind to any of us, unable to elicit even the token “thank yous” spoken with some small measure of sincerity, here, at the end.

As for me, in the past, I’ve always been able to muster that small measure of sincerity for thanks about SOMETHING, but I just cannot this year. 2012 has been a year that has kicked my ass up one side of the street and down the other for a solid 11 months. 2012 showed up on my doorstep looking to kick ass and chew Doublemint, and the twins were nowhere to be found.

In short, I am thankful for nothing, and I won’t affect gratitude just to keep up appearances.

Basically, I’m tired and I don’t have enough breadcrumbs to get home.

In addition to that, I’m now firmly on the southerly slope of life, much like everyone I know, and a lot of things are just falling apart. Even for the Woman who’s several years my junior, it’s getting’ away from her. Perhaps if I took better care of myself in my youth, perhaps if I hadn’t played every contact sport ever invented for nearly the first two decades of my life with violent gusto, perhaps if that misspent youth didn’t also involve quite as much pugilism-just-for-the-fuck-of-it, maybe I could have put off the decline a little bit longer. If Ifs and Buts were pussies and nuts, we’d all be having a swingin’ time, as one of my old hockey coaches used to say.

And in true contemporary American fashion, I blame him for all of this, the bastard.

Not really.

Again, 2012 may well go into the books as the worst year of my life, but on the bright side it flew by so goddamn quickly I hardly had a chance to notice how miserable it wanted to make me. Three yards and a cloud of dust is useless if you punt on every 4th-and-1, an old football coach used to tell me.

And in true contemporary American fashion, I also blame him for all of this, the prick.

No, not really either.

The worst of it isn’t even the physical, which is in marked decline but not to the point of geriatrics or anything. No, the worst decline is taking place in my mind. It just won’t work the way I’m used to it working. It’s a janitor’s slop bucket. It’s sluggish and slow, like a Tandy processor trying to power Pentium-tailored software. I can feel pangs in my head when I try to cogitate and the answers don’t arrive; it’s the neural equivalent of vapor lock, or like the crimping of a garden hose. You get it. I don’t, but you do. And since weird and ultimately fatal neurological problems are exceedingly prevalent in my family, I’m really psyched about what the future has in store for me.

It’s like LARPing the last five pages of Flowers for Algernon for Christ’s sake.

2013 looks especially awesome, in all ways except actually. I can hardly wait.

Viva!

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9 Responses

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  1. Giraffe said, on December 7, 2012 at 09:58

    68 degrees?

    It is 28 degrees here and snowing. I’m thankful, because it is the first meaningful snowfall of the year. But now I have get out the snowblower and see if it will start. Probably should put the lawnmower away while I’m at it.

    I could probably handle your weather but not your people.

  2. Huckleberry said, on December 7, 2012 at 15:00

    My bad, it actually turned out to be 75 today. Had to take off the sweatshirt.

    Yeah, I can’t really handle the people either, but to be honest, outside the two major cities, Californians aren’t all that different from rural residents anywhere else.

  3. Doom said, on December 10, 2012 at 23:35

    Hmm, 4/5ths dead, misdiagnosed heart failure for a (usually fatal) 22 years, barely hanging in, but… I’m actually feeling sorry for YOU! hehe Then again, I’m on an upswing and the chance of a fatal heart attack or stroke are impossibly overdo, so if I go a little lame, I at least have that. Anyway, good luck with it all.

    You do have a way of cheering a near ghost up though. If I were you, that would make me grateful. Just saying.

  4. Giraffe said, on December 11, 2012 at 09:06

    Well. If I could get my hands on the weatherman I’d probably need a place to hide the body. I’d need a pickax to dig a hole.

    We were predicted to get 2-4 inches of snow. I didn’t think that was any big deal. I didn’t find out about round two, the blizzard warning until the day before it happened.

  5. kfc said, on December 25, 2012 at 10:33

    I was trying to think last night if 2012 was any better than the ravaging 2011. I think it actually was better for me, but mostly because of me and my state of mind, not so much the environment.

    Pretty sure we’re all a little grateful for you, H. You are not too old to mend your body, Buddy. I think you know what I would tell you to go do, but I won’t say it here. I will say, if you can get your hands on some colostrum (cdfa took it away from us for no apparent legal reason, THANKS, Food Freedom Act), since it has naturally occurring growth hormone, do it. You know, rebuild some tissue. And growth hormone makes old people feel better, since the body slows down on its production with age.

    As for the brain issues, well, I’ve got a fistful of dementia in my family tree, but hell, neuroplasticity. Maybe cut back on the imbibing? There’s hope yet. You are loved.

    • Huckleberry said, on January 1, 2013 at 19:20

      Maybe cut back on the imbibing?

      Let’s not lose our heads now…
      Otherwise, yes, good advice.

  6. kfc said, on February 2, 2013 at 22:54

    and now that I’ve mustered up the courage: yoga. I’m completely serious.

  7. kfc said, on February 2, 2013 at 22:54

    (and I just laughed aloud. but I’m still serious.)

  8. […] degrees as I write this, though it did dip down into the 40s a couple of nights last week. When I half-complained that 2012 went too quickly for my own misery to even notice, here comes 2013 to double-down on the velocity.* But it’s almost over now. I probably won’t do […]


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