While I recall 2010 being one of the worst years in recent memory, order as I assembled the obligatory calendar for my parents, I realized it also looked a lot like this:

Ah, the end of another year. Time to order the Chinese food and open the cans of champagne! What has Licketysplit, the royal we, accomplished in 2010?

January: We recovered from ruining Christmas and surgery; considered painkiller addiction. Mr. H took two back-to-back overseas trips for work. We remained behind for snow shoveling duties. Child did not eat our eyes while he is gone, but she did call her cousin “a fucker.”

February: We have no recollection of February. Oh right, we were embroiled in a doomed real estate transaction.

March: Real estate transaction officially fell through. That gentleman opted to buy another unit in the building formerly occupied by a man who committed suicide and was not found for two weeks. Truefax, he left the windows open to hide the aroma, and he was only found when maggots started coming out from under the door. To each his own. We mulled our options; drank heavily.

April: Interviewed a parade of prospective renters for the Indian Burial Ground. Judged them all to be insane, grudgingly decided to move back to the loft. Accused of child neglect by an insane vindictive neighbor. Three-year-olds occasionally scream for no particular reason, so it happens. Colonoscopy.

May: Interviewed contractors; plotted revenge against insane neighbor. Mini breakdown. Cleared by child protective whoosits! Sister’s bridal shower!

June: Child had three or four birthday parties. We moved back to the Indian Burial Ground without using movers. Mini breakdown.

July: Drove to Maryland for sister’s wedding! Fought with condo board over prospective height of our new walls. Summered in Maine.

August: More summering. Construction took place after many threats. Had surgery at the same time as construction. Brilliant idea, repeat as soon as possible. Diagnosis? Torn abdominal muscle. You know how sporty we are. Resolution to 7 years of unexplained pain.

September: Attempted to adjust to life with walls. Realized place still too small, school districts terrible. Will have to move again. Started 19 online businesses.

October: Brief detour into mania. Attended V2 Summit with Lambchop. Went to Virginia for some reason.

November: Descent into existentialism. Total creative block. Quit drinking, leading to pregnancy speculation from the peanut gallery.

December: More existentialism. 3 Christmases. Kicked some psych meds thought to largely account for the mania/existentialism combo of October-December. Does this eye twitch make us look like a pirate?

In the new year, we plan to NEVER DO ANY OF THOSE THINGS AGAIN. Except have birthday parties and visit Lambchop and Summer. And we suppose the mania was kind of nice, all things considered. We only regret that it fizzled before we got a trip to Fiji out of the deal.

 Everbody has a year end wrap-up these days.  I bet even the toothless prosti that stands out in front of your building in a velour tracksuit has posted a year end review on her fbook.  She has her “likes” and “dislikes” too, dammit. 

It was a banner year for your lambchop, more drama than I have known in years.  But for once, it was not of my creation, so I didn’t even really register it in that way.  Looking back, though, “whoa.”  I started to make a list, but it was too ridiculous.  I may have lost a job and a gallery and a world cup title. My best little pal moved away. I got divorced and had a friend nearly die.  But a lot of good things happened, too.  I am lucky to know talented people who are busy making the world, and existence, bearable.  Sometimes even fun.  Even when Germany loses.

I am making my work and riding around on my bicycle, and that’s really all that I want to do.  I can’t slag on a year too badly at any rate, that was a WORLD CUP YEAR.  So thanks a lot 2010!  At the end of the day, you were what you were. 

It is time to look ahead, to new work that will surely bring us fame and fortune.  To new shoes and hairdos and torn stockings.  Let nothing stand between us and joy.  Or at least medication. We sail optimistically into the future!