For the love of all that is good and holy, the past 7 days, or rather the first 7 days of this spanking new year has totally sucked.

I could extrapolate on the fact that yesterday, I watched the casket lid close on my friend Amys sweet face, but I won’t.

I could talk about Weezie being a nutbag after getting into a scrap last week, but I won’t.

I also won’t bitch about the fact that there is something significantly wrong with the drain from my washing machine to the outdoors. NO one needs to hear about that.

Instead, on this, the 8th day of 2017, 58 days until I hit my 40th year, I choose to try to bring myself up from the gutter and find some good.

I find good in the company of those with whom I brunched today.

I find good in the fact that our waiter did not appear to think I was the ugliest girl in puppet land, despite the fact that he was a child.

I find good in the fact that my heat works, my dogs didn’t destroy anything while I was trying to drink away the hell of the week.

I find good in the fact that I ate chips & dip tonight for dinner. I mean, I know, I know, I need to do better, but I needed something fast and easy and it was there.

I find good in the fact that I’m sitting here admiring Christmas Tree # 2 as I compose this Pulitzer-winning prose.

I find good in the fact that something has snapped in this brain of mine, and I just don’t give a shit about stupid things anymore. Don’t you like me? That’s ok. Don’t you invite me to your shit? That’s ok. I’m not going to get butt hurt by exclusions this year, but I do know that I daresay will try less to please other people. I’ve spent most of my life pleasing people and where has that gotten me? Relationships work both ways. You give, you take. There should be a balance. If there is not balance, something is indeed off and needs to be analyzed. Bear with me as I gain my sea legs, but I am finally have come to the long overdue realization that relationships, either emotional, sexual, or friendly should be equally reciprocal. Period, end of story. If they are not, perhaps they need some thought and adjustment. Life is too short to not be happy.

This year. Oh, this year. I’m going to do things differently this year. Truthfully, it has less to do with the 40-year number, rather than I am just sick to death of trying to please others all the damn time. I think that straw broke a few months ago, and I finally am ready to do something about it.

It’s time to get a life.
It’s time to get my groove back.

And finally, I can’t stop thinking about this song: