I find I'm getting pretty cheeseball in my old age, so please bear with me. Also if you've been watching the Crown and imagine this in the style of the Queen's Christmas message, I won't be upset.
My husband and I--
Oops sorry, got a little too into being the Queen. I don't have a husband. Ahem.
I'm fairly sure my 28th year on this planet would hold its own against most soap operas. It at least holds the record for number of times yours truly has said, "You've got to be fucking kidding me." (Nobody was ever kidding.)
It would be easy to dismiss 2017 as a miserable year. There's been a lot of bad shit. But I'm not about doing things the easy way. Some really wonderful things have happened this year.
My best friend in the entire world got engaged to her (other) best friend in the entire world and I've never been so sure two people belong in each other's lives. They are going to adopt me and we will live happily ever after in DC with our dogs and cats. (Can't wait to join you guys on the honeymoon, it's gonna be great.)
I have two beautiful nieces who give me hope and remind me to keep fighting.
I've made some lifelong friends in San Francisco. (You're stuck with me, bitches. Kisses.)
Most importantly, I really think a miracle happened this week. (I told you this would get cheeseball.) I'm not always sure God is a real thing, but he got several checks in his column over the past few days. The last time I felt this sure there is a God, I was laying on the ground in Victoria Park in London having a small personal crisis when a puppy rushed in from out of nowhere and attacked my face with kisses. Hard to compete with that. (The puppy probably just liked that my face was sweaty from running, but still. Higher power.)
Here's to all of us getting out of 2017 alive and maybe even well. And here's to me becoming a 29-year-old hermit.
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