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The Year of My Lament

And so it is that I come here, of all places, to sign off the year of 2007. I've resisted, but circumstances dictate I splurge my lament into this diary one final time.

The year 2007 will not hold a great many happy memories. It will in fact record precious few moments worth remembering in a positive sense at all.

I might as well begin at the end, which is to say the engagement to my ex-fiancee has ended after I discovered she was sending naked pictures of herself to at least three other men via her phone and facebook. I have a list of reasons to suspect that this was the least of her offences against me. I neither know for certain, nor particularly care if this is indeed the case.

Of course, the folly of carrying on such activities using my PC as the tool of co-ordination for her indiscretion cannot be overstated. That's quite possibly the most stupid thing I think anyone has ever done.

But that aside, I'm now single for pretty much the first time in about 9 years. The dream of life I'd envisaged coming together with my pending marriage has shattered into a million shards of sharp glass. Useless for anything beyond causing me pain.

I'm not known for my rosy outlook, but right now, things are looking pretty damn bleak. My life now largely consists of going to work, and sitting at home waiting to sleep so I can wake up and go back to work. It's not a life particularly endowed with value.

Of course, working backwards now, the fact that this situation blew up as I was supposed to begin preparation for my accountancy finals will no doubt mean that, when the results are published in two weeks' time, I will be staring a couple of resits in the face. Oh, the magnificent joy of such thoughts. Of course, if I do fail an exam now, then the long bedangled carrot of a 1st time pass bonus of �1,000 (c$2,000) deliquesces into mist at the final hurdle.

So in a single move, I'm out of a wife, out of a qualification, and out of pocket as well.

Then we factor in the rest of this crappy year. The one uncle I had that I actually got on with and spoke to with reasonable regularity passed away, his American wife deciding there's nothing left for her in England, selling up and moving back to Boston, ne'er to be seen again. In turn meaning I no longer have any family within 250 miles of me.

Oh yeah, and my job didn't really turn out to be the highlight of the year, either. I accepted a new role, only to find out that it immediately transformed into something I didn't want to do, but had to stick out for at least a year for the sake of professional development. In turn meaning the change of terms (read: promotion) promised me failed to materialise. Instead I got dumped on with the largest spate of office politics I've experienced since working with Accenture consultants on a CRM project, culminating in two directors having a bum-fight over who takes my costs, who records my headcount and therefore who has 'control' of me.

Is it a wonder that, after so many years of emotional torpor, I now find myself breking down into tears at random intervals, over utterly trivial - and often irrelevant - things? I can no longer control my emotions to any meaningful degree. Bouts of anger, melancholy, distress or misery overcome me in waves. Gone is the maligned siezure of my feelings in the iron grip of my once vacuumous black heart.

My grip on sanity is, at last, beginning to fail. It was a long time coming but, I guess, somewhat inevitable. So as you embrace your loved ones while the clock counts down to midnight, think of me. As you dance, arm in arm, and open your throats for another verse of Auld Lang Syne, remember that little voice from England that faded into silence. Think of me simply to remind yourself that whatever 2008 brings - the laughter and the tears, the hope and the pain - your life could be a whole lot worse.

Me, I'll bring the New Year in sat at home alone, and as the clock strikes twelve, I'll raise a glass and my middle finger and shout to the world "Fuck you very much".

C'est la vie, c'est amour, c'est fin.

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Copyright Insane Bartender 2007-12-31 12:28 p.m.

e-mail me: Insane Bartender