The Year That Shall Not Be Named

Excuse me as I clear out some cobwebs and dust here. There. Ok.

So, I started this blog this year with the hopes that it would become a much bigger thing than it did. But like a lot of other stuff, it crashed and burned. Why? Because most of the time, I couldn’t put into words what was going on around me. It wasn’t just all of the celebrity deaths, or the utter shit show of our presidential election. There were some personal things too. And when the world seems to be collapsing in on itself outside the walls of my home, anything good tends to be overshadowed by the bad. And that fucking sucks. I mean, Christmas wasn’t even as enjoyable as in years past. And I’m a total nutjob when it comes to Christmas (like the type of nutjob who wants to put up the tree on November 1st). But by the time it got here, I was just so done with this year that for the first time, Christmas couldn’t even save it.

“Does anyone feel like they’ve been Keyser Soze’d?”

Because wow. I mean, really. Just wow. Are there any other words that can describe this year? Oh, I know. Horrifying, appalling, catastrophic, or pretty much any other word that falls under these in the thesaurus. It was so bad that an awesome friend of mine dubbed it The Year That Shall Not Be Named (a moniker which I promptly stole and have been using ad nauseam – thanks Rita!) I mean, Azealia Banks revealed yesterday that she’s been sacrificing chickens in a closet in her home for the past 3 years, and my reaction was basically “yep, that seems about right.” No shock, no “OMG! Can you believe that?” because of course I can believe it. It’s 2016, and it will be bizarre and “WTF?” until the bitter fucking end.


Not that all of this year was bad. There were some good parts. I started a new career as an English professor, and I got a real cash money paying job in said career. Two jobs, in fact. And then they completely monopolized all of my time. Like literally all of it. Preparing lectures and grading papers until 2 or 3 in the morning was not uncommon. But teaching British Literature renewed my love for writers like Shakespeare, Milton, Marlowe, and Swift. It renewed my love for literature, in general. A love that I wasn’t even aware I had lost. It also renewed my love of writing. Something I will try to do more of in 2017. I won’t make it a resolution because that’s a guarantee that I won’t do it. So I’m just going to say, I’ll try.

This next semester shouldn’t be as time consuming (I hope). I will still have a shit ton of papers to grade, but I’m only at one school now, and I’ve already taught one of the classes. I’ve got a better handle on what to do, and I’ve had more than two weeks to prepare for these classes. I’m really looking forward to teaching some of my favorite books too. The Road, Station Eleven, Wool, and Ready Player One. Some brilliant dystopian themed novels that perfectly reflect where we are as a society, but hopefully don’t foreshadow our actual future.

But even with the good, am I happy this year is coming to a close? Abso-fucking-lutely. Am I worried about what next year will bring? You bet your sweet ass I am.

But, I will go forth into the murky future with my new mantra of “I am one with the Force, the Force is with me.” (Because Chirrut Imwe is awesome!)

And also this, so much this…


(Did you really expect anything else from me? I am a nerd, after all.)

It seems fitting that I launched this blog with a post about Prince’s death, and the last post of the year is about the death of 2016. So, all I can really say at this point is good riddance. You, Year That Shall Not Be Named, are an asshole. And unlike so many of the amazing people you stole from us, you will not be missed.