There Might Be A Light At The End Of The Tunnel (But That Doesn't Mean You Should Walk Towards It.)

With the first night of Channukah at my heels, I take a moment to sit and reflect in (mostly) silence. The BF is fast asleep, his head filled with newfound lessons in Judaica (he asked if my menorah was an homage to Devil worship. Silly Christian boy. Of course it is.)

Sitting, typing, watching the Christmas lights on my Channukah Bush twinkle, watching one cat throw up bits of said bush, while the other cat flees in terror from a plastic bag (in hot pursuit, because it is wrapped around his leg.)

(Brief pause while I disengage said cat from big bad bag.)

Deciding whom to sue when I slip and break my freaking neck in the building's parking lot because our slumlord can't be bothered to get up in the morning and salt it.

Sipping red wine, watching my neighbour's backyard, which is alight with no less than 6 inflatable snowglobes (with music. And lights. And motion. All day. All night.) I doubt very much that Noriega endured such psych ops during the invasion of Panama. The jiving Santas along his fence remind me of my first, and last, acid trip.

All in all? Not so much a Winter Wonderland, as Hell officially frozen over, with Santa (Satan?) at the helm.

And that's OK.

You see, a friend recently told me that feeling sorry for myself positions me as a victim, with little or no control over my environment. So what if I'm up to my neck in debt and have to sell off anything of value? So what if my friends and family will be getting holiday wishes and Channukah dreams instead of gifts from me this year? Or if some days at work might as well end with "before turning the gun on herself"? Or if I sometimes wake up, crushed under the weight of a sadness so intense that all I can do is moan like a wounded animal?

Instead of being a victim, I can put myself in a position of power by trying (really, really hard) to keep a positive outlook:

I may be divorced, but I am now in an awesome relationship with a guy who would, literally, take a bullet for me (given the neighbourhood, he may be called to duty.)

I may not have kids now, but boy is the trying fun!

I may have gained some weight this year, but I'm fed (As an aside, they shouldn't make brie taste like heaven.)

I may have zero disposable income, but I'm also not stuck in some snow squall outside of a loser club trying to hail a cab that will only drive me 2 blocks because I blew $200 on booze and have no more money.

I may be drinking a lot, but...well, at least I'm drinking a lot!

While this is not necessarily how I pictured my life turning out, it's still a pretty damned good one.