January 1. No hangover…

Another January 1 without a hangover. No remorse about what I did, what I seem to remember I did…and what I suspect might have happened on New Year’s Eve not because I remember but based on who my acquaintences have called to tell me I offended and now owe an apology.

Ah, that’s my first thankfulness of the new year. It’s all due to a simple omission. I don’t drink alcohol. I don’t take drugs. (Well, only a few drugs. Carvedilol, Lisinopril, Atorvastatin…and they don’t seem to cause psychotropic changes…)

Next up: reflections and ruminations on the past twelvemonth period.

Fall season has been rather filled with major happenings during recent years. November 20, 1998. My mother died. A few years later, my old cat, Zachary, passed away. My other old cat, Abigail died in December a couple years after Zachary left. My father flew south in early December, I’m not sure which year. His cunt wife neglected to inform me of his death. No surprise. She misstated his place of birth and his mother’s name on his death certificate, too.

Then in 2013, I made an attempt at departing this world myself. Almost, flatlined a couple of times, but as Bill Clinton said to Al Gore, “Close, Al, but no cigar.” Was that a reference to Bill’s experience with Monica?

So, nothing particularly momentous in the late year season for 2019. My old Isuzu Amigo (model name, not that it was my friend) died, but that wasn’t as significant as mother, father, cats or self. I didn’t even care much for the Isuzu. Not sure what happened to it either. It still runs, just makes a death rattle in it’s throat. I suppose when my job ends (sometime in the next few months) I’ll have the Isuzu hauled away. Don’t know if it will be cremated or disassembled.

That’s OK.

When my time finally arrives, I don’t know whether I’ll be cremated or disassembled, either.