The original title of this post was “2009 Sucked.” But then something odd happened.

I suck at making resolutions, though there are definitely people and things I’d like to say goobye to. Mostly to you and you. And Madeira. Holy crap, I am never drinking that again. I am also never standing on icy bridges, hurling dog tags into the water. I am putting a moratorium on dramatic text messages and little packages of salted calamari, embarrassing amounts of which I have devoured this year. I’m not going to be obsessed with the cheerful blandness of five-star hotels. I will not take powdered creamer in my instant coffee. I will not fight one-woman battles against unseen enemies. Good night ladies, good night, sweet ladies, and goodbye.

But if there’s one resolution I really ought to make, it’s pretending that everything’s Fucking Horrible. It’s a bit of a reflex with me. A superstition, even. “Don’t say that things are fine, because you’ll jinx them, and they will be un-fine.” I’m sure some of you reading can relate. You know what, though? Superstitions suck. And they are tedious as well. Going around an entire block because a cat ran into your path – who does that? Tedious people do. People who would like a semblance of control, when none of us have any (as Woland pointed out to Berlioz).

So in keeping with that, I am not going to say that 2009 was a bad year. It was a hard year, but “hard” and “bad” are not necessarily synonyms. Perhaps this is just another superstition, but moaning about how 2009 Destroyed Mah Life seems ungrateful. You never know, which agents of fate may be listening to you moan, or how short their tempers may be.

Check it out: 2009 lavished me with brambles and hangovers at 4 p.m. It was a cornucopia of brown boots, bruised thighs, guns, pipes, and hanging out of the door, singing “Olena ne plach'” into the falling snow. It was a shitload of really good work. It contained collapsed volcanoes, doors to other worlds (conveniently located in Somerset), and Suberstar. It stomped a bloody hole in my chest, but the hole also let the light in. It gave me new friends and enemies, and it brought back and resurrected old ones. It gave me chances to terrorist-fist-bump my brother before he goes to bed at night. It let me lean on my family, and let them lean on me, and witness the bizarre miracle of nobody getting toppled. It made me blubber over an e-mail from someone I haven’t even met, but do so in a good, summer rain-y sort of way. It made me hold my own hand. It busted me, and made me grateful — “for every single moment of my stupid little life.”

Pretty good year. Hasta. Baby. 😀

Don’t worry, though, ya’ll, I’ll be back to my regular bitchy self in no time. The people have come to see Tsarina, and she will not disappoint them, etc.