January 25, 2016- Impossible Year

“Impossible Year” by Panic! At the Disco from Death of a Bachelor

Listen to it here

(photo from lacrossetribune.com)

(photo from lacrossetribune.com)

VIV is walking through the park. There a people but not many, spread apart. They generally are only paying attention to themselves or themselves and the people they came with.

VIV (directly addressing)

You know how people always say you can’t really judge what you’re going through until your done with it? Like, we didn’t realize 1999 was such a monster year for great movies until a few years later looking back? People are full of shit. I am very aware of how terrible this year is and I don’t need “distance” to realize that.

She tightens her jacket around herself, runs a hand through her hair.

Although, to be fair, it did take me a little while to realize just how epically fucked thing were. It wasn’t the breakup…I’ve been dumped before. Sure, this one was worse…the worst. But, one has to be the worst, right?

And even when he went back on the agreement that I could stay in the apartment until the lease ran out—even when I learned he did that so his new girlfriends—yes, GIRLFRIENDS, plural—could move in, I was still all, “Shrug… living together after a breakup is pretty awkward.

A ball rolls towards her, she kicks it, hard, back from where it came, barely breaking stride.

No. It took me until the fire. Fires. One at the storage unit, one at my parents’ house. And then the arson investigation. After all, who is the victim of two fires in a three day period? Thankfully the police were able to conclude that I was. Unlucky, hapless me. I wasn’t an arsonist, I was fate’s sucker.

A frisbee ricochets off a tree branch and hits her square in the cheek. She growls in frustration.


She tosses it in a trash can as she passes it.

As I was saying, that’s when I finally caught on. So by the time I got hit by that cab ON THE SIDEWALK, I was kind of hip to the theme of the year.

A man rides by on a bike and catcalls her. When she doesn’t respond he swears loudly at her. She shudders a touch but does not slow or look back.

Having an awful year is bad, but it isn’t the worst part though. The worst part is the wisdom seekers. The friends and relatives and…associates who approach me all wide eyed, overflowing with admiration. So certain that I’ve gained some kind of new life philosophy from this whole thing, some kind of incredible existential insight that I can share that will then make their life easier.

First, I’m not Jesus. I didn’t suffer for anyone’s sins. Not even yours, cutie. You get me? My pain is not your shortcut around it. You’ll get your misery in your time. Hopefully not as efficiently as I got fed mine, but there’s no skipping out on it.

Second, and this one everyone needs to listen really closely to, pain does not make us better. Surviving does not give me—or anyone else—special powers. It gives us bruises. Being depressed and anxious and in shock is hard enough work on its own, I don’t need to feel like I’m doing it wrong on top of all that because I’m not some kind of guru now.

Sits down on a park bench, slapping a bird away as it nearly lands next to her.

But I can see your disappointment. So, fine. Here, here’s what I learned.

Long pause

Life is vicious, nasty, and unpleasant. Punch it in the damn face every chance you can’t. Fuck smelling every flower. Fuck taking it easy or slow. Fuck sloganeering. Tear into this life and when it finally takes you out of this world, make damn sure you gave as good as you got.