Celebrity Deathmatch: Golem vs The Lords of Kobal

Sing with me:  “One Day Mooooore!”  Goodbye 2013, you nightmarish parade of horrors and disappointments!  Farewell 2013; don’t let the Time Door hit your ass on the way out.  “Tscussi” 2013, and if my dancing were not slightly more terrifying than the fact that you happened, I would bust a serious move.

I don’t do resolutions.  But I do have very strong intentions.  And while technically I could have and should have made this plan months ago and followed through, I didn’t because it will feel more official, and frankly more possible, without the taint of “2013” on it.  With this fresh new page of calendar space, I plan to let go of all kinds of stuff.  The catalogue of sadness I find myself flipping through during my week is going in the shredder.  If I was in a TV show and we did a “year in review” episode, it wouldn’t be nice.  It would not be motivating.  And as this is my last chance to wallow in all of them, let’s make a list.  Lists are fun.

Negotiated single parenthood for 9 months.

Left my people across an ocean.  Again.

Moved permanently to an island I never felt any desire to even briefly visit.

Lost a baby.

Got robbed while in my own home and showing kindness to the very man who robbed me.

Lost another baby.

Lost a friend to cancer.

There’s a woman I pass on the drive to school.  She’s a normal looking woman.  She gets up early.  She’s probably a bit taller than me.  She’s got brown hair.  She’s neither especially muscular nor particularly chubby. She could be me.  Except she’s running.  She is definitely not me.  She’s running uphill and pushing an empty stroller up that hill as she runs.  In my early morning, post-traffic-battle haze, I find myself identifying with her.

Why push an empty stroller?  Is it for balance?  For an extra workout?  Did she just drop a child off at school or daycare?

My empty stroller serves none of those purposes.  And the hill I’m running up is one I probably built myself.  And what really pisses me off is this:  it’s not making me any stronger.  It really isn’t.  It’s making me tired and resentful and, let’s be honest, really sweaty.

Every time something wonderful happens, and there HAVE been wonderful things, I whip out the Catalogue of Sadness to make sure I still feel sad.  Spoilers!  I still feel sad.  But do I have a Catalogue of Happiness?  Of course not.  Cuz that’s sappy.  I’m many things, but I’m not a sap.  Please.

So we are shredding the Catalogue, Precious.  And we are setting up a slideshow of the most motivating movie scenes in recent memory.  Every time a sad event pops up it shall be promptly crushed by awesomeness.

See Tripler Medical Center over there?  That’s where you lost Baby 2.

BOOM.  Serenity:  River swiftly and elegantly kills the crap out of a room full of Reevers.

You’re putting your jewelry on.  Wouldn’t it be nice if you hadn’t been a stupid naive moron and let all the good stuff get stolen basically right in front of you?

POW.  James Bond watches with seething frustration and a whole lot of promising rage as the bad guy blows his gorgeous car to hell.

Another hot day.  In December.  You miss your family.  And you have no friends.

ZOWIE.  In strolls Don Draper to find the Dream Team assembling to form their own ad agency.

You’re surrounded by beauty but it just isn’t good enough.  What an ungrateful person you are.  What an unsupportive wife.  You made a selfish choice in that leadership decision.  Coward.  What ever happened to all those stories you started writing?  Didn’t finish?  Figures.  You’re actually a terrible mother too.  What are you DOING with your life?!

WHAM. Col. Tighe, Sam, and Chief Terrill realize they are really Cylons.

You should just…

Basically ANY Battlestar Galactica scene when the drums start going.  Pick one.

No more empty stroller pushing.  No more wallowing.  I’m done.

So say we all.

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