Deuces, 2019
I’m an alarmingly routine person. Like same thing for breakfast every day for at least the past 7 years alarmingly routine person. So when I rolled into work last week after two weeks off and was nowhere close to being ready to be back into a routine, that’s a real testament to just what a dumpster fire 2019 was.
2019 was a whirlwind. . .of mostly trash. A trashnado if you will (and I will). Remember when Miley Cyrus came in like a wrecking ball? That was 2019 coming into my life, nightmare inducing naked chain licking and all. Every second of 2019 wasn’t terrible – Boogs is potty trained! I signed a voiceover agent! Jesse doesn’t have rickets! – but it was far from what I’d call the best year ever.
It was, however, an important year because it was a growing year. I, too, despise me for using an obnoxious phrase like “growing year”, but I really don’t know what else to call it because crying-in-the-closet-at-3am-on-the-regular year just doesn’t have the same ring to it. We were pushed to our breaking point several times only to discover that nope, that’s not actually the breaking point so I guess we’ll just keep swimming through some more garbage over here; and at the end of the year, there we were buried under seven miles of crap. But mixed in with that crap was some good – Boogs can (sorta kinda) count to 20 in Spanish! I can run an entire 5k without puking! Jesse can take down a 22 ounce steak in one sitting! – and those bits of good are what give me skeptical hope that maybe 2020 won’t be quite the dumpster fire we called 2019.
So here’s to 2020. A year that’s most definitely going to be another year of change and growing pains, but maybe we’ll only be buried under one mile of crap this time.
Soybeans, Too 