2018; If this were the Middle Ages, you would be stoned to death. And I personally, I would have used those small over-priced tiny stones that we put in our pot plants to keep the cats from shitting there.
If you had a name, it would be George. You’re like that paragliding clip, where we are all holding on for dear life. Just fucking making it. Just-just (A South-African term, akin to ‘now-now.‘ SA kids know that ‘now-now’ means perhaps next winter / when I’ve slept / when I feel like it / perhaps-maybe-maybe-not). Watch the clip. Surviving, clinging on, hoping. Let me be clear; holding on for dear life, nails bitten down to the flesh & knuckles bare. Like this; Paraglide Failure
2018; You were awkward like that phobia support group clip, this one; Phobia support group Just awkward & confusing & unnecessary. According to 5FM, loads of millennials thought you were great. But dear 2018, those of us in the know, we call you a dickhead & worse. Those Millennials, well, perhaps most of them severely lack EQ, Broccoli, a proper hiding, Omega essential oils, the outdoors & honest old school resilience. (Sorry you guys, contact me for help).
2018; You were creepy like that blind date I once had with an ex rekkie who saved his money under his mattress (thank God & the pope that I took my own car to that blind date). You were as confusing & as demanding as a toddler who has a masters in union negotiation skills, pissed off because you- you fucking retard of a parent, you used the wrong colour cup & you cut the sandwich into two sharks instead of three, you dick you.
2018; You were like that just-past-toddler-stage kid who wears you down by intuitively repeating ridiculous requests at exactly the moment you’re about to die of decision making fatigue. You’re like that kid on the playground who challenged you to eat your lunch in 3 seconds in a made up ‘let’s-see-who-can-eat-the-fastest challenge’ & who then lingered on their own crappy jam sandwich, just to irritatingly sing ‘I still have food! I still have food” (You know who you are, Claudine, – I’m sure you are amazing & I know you had a good reason, but with chemo came foot in mouth disease). 2018; You are that aisle of hell where all the sweets are at toddler eye level, you are Build-A-Bear (aka 7th circle of hell).
You were like my cat who is always on the wrong side of the door. You were like that boyfriend who was under house arrest & had fat policemen in a white Toyota with an endless supply of doughnuts follow him everywhere – for stealing bikes (apparently, never trust a chemo brain memory). Wrong & against your values & out of place, like that. Look at me now. You were like a twisted Geocache in a residential area that you just can’t find.
Disclaimer: I’ve just come back from the uber-uber, super, alpha-amazing Oyster Box where we were privileged to spend our saying goodbye to the old year & welcoming in the new. (read; Fuck Off Already 2018).
PS. I had high hopes for 2019, (but?) as we left & waited for our Uber, there were some presumably low EQ, incompetent at life & bored teenagers in an apartment nearby. And they, out of boredom or stupidity (and not malice, I hope), threw several eggs at us. Credit to you, you little assholes, for your aiming; You hit me right in the fat arm & actually drew blood. It’s a sore point for me though, (no pun intended, perhaps, …..) Granted, I had had too much wine & food & I shouted at you like a crazy mom who can’t find her child – something else that we dealt with on this last day of the year –we found the boys’ mom by the way, even though he only spoke Venda. If only you, dear (insert word of choice) teenager, knew what we went through during the last 2 years, you would have thrown chocolates & flowers instead of eggs…
Not only the Jackson 5 had had a tough year, so many of our friends & family also hated you.
In 2019, don’t throw eggs, real or symbolic. Rather find your true North, or your mom if you like, (and if you don’t understand the local language then grab the hand or fat arm of the closest trustworthy person and hang on). Spend more face-to-face time – swimming pools & #Ravensburger board games will help you here.
PS. I”m stopping by tomorrow, dear bored-bad-mannered teenager(s). I’m bringing you a #Ravensburger game. They are great – quality time with your loved ones, a lesson in actual real face to face communication & hopefully a lesson in how to use eggs to make French Toast with burnt butter sauce (your wife & mother in law will thank you one day). Only assholes throw eggs from windows. I’ll tie you to a chair or hold you down with the fat arm if I must, and I’ll tell you about two years with cancer and general adulting. I might even give you a donkey kiss at the end – my kids fear these. You are clearly not getting enough attention, vegetables, face to face interaction & more – as mentioned before.
I’ll fix it for you later today – as hinted at. I warn you though; chemo & cancer made me rather ruthless. You’re welcome.
Totsiens (cheers / bye / sala kahle) 2018, Take what you took and don’t ever come back.