This should've been a good photo of the cherry trees in full bloom but it wasn't because the weather sucked. This, I found out later, was a sign that 2015 was well on its way to record-breaking sucking.
(Disclaimer: I realize some people hate the pervasive use of the word "suck" and I do too but there really is no better word yet, so I wait and hope for American slang to improve.)
We're six months into 2015 so it's too early to write my usual grumpy end-of-year This Year Officially Sucked blog post. Except that this year has already sucked so much that another six months of suckitude would probably be the end of me, and therefore the end of this blog, so I should get my whacks in while I'm still breathing, no?
I exaggerate. Only a little.
It says something about a six month time span when the root canal you had in April isn't even in the top five sucky things that happened to you, right?
When January started off with a failing hard drive, I should have known 2015 was up to no good. The usual weather complaints commenced (no, not even weeks of snow-covered sidewalks is in the top five) and then my hard drive finally failed for good and the root canal happened. Then more issues, which I won't go into except to say I'm really glad I live five minutes from a major hospital. (And fortunately it's a military hospital, so I can continue having my socialist American health care! It's been excellent, I might add.)
Despite all this whining, I'm an optimist at heart, and looking forward to better times is in my nature. But I'm also a champion worrier. Even though I have noticed that the things I worry about the most tend to turn out much better than my worst fears, I still can't break the habit of obsessively worrying about upcoming worrying events. Like moving across the ocean with my equally anxious dog. That turned out okay, despite my nearly fantastical imaginings of doom, yet I find myself sticking to the pattern. Because who's to say that the actual worrying doesn't prevent the worst thing from happening? It's like a lucky shirt. If I don't worry, I'll probably be hit by that bus when I cross the street. (This is no far-fetched notion; not long after I moved here a woman was hit by a bus and killed at the Metro station we use. I've no idea if she ever worried about being hit by a bus.)
So I've got my licks in. 2015, you suck, so far. Luckily, you've got another chance to redeem yourself: Six months probation, for you! July had better see some major improvement, otherwise I'm canceling August, September and October.
Now, bring on the Summer Solstice!
