Good riddance to 2015.

Well hello, blog. You’ve been sorely neglected. I would say that I’ll do better in 2015, but I’m not the New Year’s resolution sort. However, I’m just sitting around cat-sitting, so I figured I’d try to put the year into words.

What I’ve struggled to express to people in the past six months was how this summer overshadowed he rest of the year. Dislocating and breaking my shoulder (and arm, and possibly collarbone) was more than just painful physically, emotionally, and financially; it was isolating. Two of my favorite things in this world are attending concerts and writing, and I found myself unable to do much of either. Even holding up a book on the train to read on my commute was nearly impossible. I didn’t feel like going out much because I was exhausted and grumpy all the time. Even with insurance, my medical bills were in the quadruple digits. Besides, the subway was a gamble. Would I be able to sit down and hold my arm close, safe as long as the car didn’t jostle along the tracks? Or would I have to stand, my left arm going numb as I cut off circulation from reaching up to hold the pole while balancing my purse on the same shoulder? Would someone run into me and not even apologize? That happened frequently. Nearly daily. There was the woman who wedged herself on an already-crowded seat. There was the man who decided that playing solitaire with two hands was more important than holding on during a bumpy rush hour. A couple of times a week, someone (usually a woman) would offer me a seat. Usually, though, I was on the defense constantly.

The bills are still trickling in as my lovely insurance company takes its sweet time in paying up. I still get random aches in pains in my shoulder. I like to joke that I now have the Old Person superpower of predicting the weather. I’m now 30% more likely to dislocate my shoulder again, and as my doctor told me first thing when he met me without even bothering with a hello, I’m a likely to suffer osteoporosis later in life because of this. I know I’m lucky that my head didn’t hit the concrete too, that I didn’t need surgery or a cast or anything more drastic than a sling, but I don’t ever want to ever again feel the pain of trudging a mile with dislocated and fractured bones only to find out that the Urgent Care couldn’t treat me. Thinking of all the pain, the physical therapy, the loneliness, the hard work that I put in to regain my dexterity still fills me with sadness. I’m not going to pretend it’s a blessing in disguise like one of those Simple Reminders you see reposted all over Facebook and Instagram. It fucking sucked, end of.

Of course, I have to remind myself that not everything about the year was horrible. I got to spend some time with wonderful friends from across the country and make new friends at concerts. A member of my favorite band treated Cari, Lauren, and me like old friends and gave us a pleasant surprise. I got to see bands that I’ve been waiting 10+ years to witness live, including Blur, Ash, and Idlewild, and I was in the front row for all of them. I was also front row for THE original Hedwig, John Cameron Mitchell. I got to attend a day of Governor’s Ball for free as a friend’s guest. I got my own cat. I took my birthday into my own hands and shelled out for tasty cocktails and Sleep No More. I sat at Glen Hansard’s feet while he played new songs in a bookstore past midnight, and he even wished me a happy birthday (thanks again, Scott). I met one of my favorite authors, and he was cool as hell. (John Connolly. Go read all of his novels now. You’re welcome.) I went to New York Comic Con and got to see The X-Files’ premiere months early. I wrote a novel in November that I didn’t hate and actually feel compelled to fix up. I did a hell of a lot, even if sometimes it feels like I just survived these past months.

Still, I’m ready to see the back of 2015. 2016, do better or I will have serious complaints.


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