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2015. Thanks for the memories, you bastard.


Dear 2015,

In a week where every other blogger is drinking their lemon and cucumber water (because Christmas detoxing #blessed) while writing about all the enlightening things that the year that was has imparted upon them, I feel the need to write you this.

Eff you.  One great, big, fat, up yours.   Consider this hate mail, if you will.

I don’t really know why, but we never really got along.  You were determined to make me bloody well earn every darn victory, until it got to the point that I didn’t have the energy for much more than curling up on the couch and watching re-runs of Gossip Girl.  AND EVEN THEN YOU DIDN’T MAKE IT EASY.  (R.I.P., media player.  We had some great times together.  Hopefully you’ve found somewhere nice, over the electrical goods rainbow, and that the people there let you play rom-coms instead of those pointless horror flicks we never liked.)

You tested my patience.  You questioned my loyalties.  You made me drink alot.  You put me on a freaking long haul flight with the Screaming Children, born of the Devil himself, for 14 fecking hours.

You took some pretty amazing people out of my life and replaced them with potatoes. (not literally, of course, because potatoes can be turned into french fries, and THUS SERVE A PURPOSE.)  You messed with my health, multiple times.  You demanded I work harder and longer than ever before, just to achieve what can be summed up as some pretty mediocre results.  You sapped my creativity and left me with literally no energy or desire to create anything beautiful.

My friends lost the loves of their lives, marriages crumbled, families were lost (both furry and human kind) and much wanted babies failed to be conceived.

You bloody well kicked my ass, for sport.

Sure there were little moments of #blessed-ness.  Little gleaming moments of glitter.  There were moments of complete and utter bliss, beach walks at sunset, online sales saving the very last pair of shoes in my size, trips to places far and wide, and bottles of wine shared with good friends.

But not even very nearly enough.

Truthfully, 2015, I’m pretty glad to see the back end of you.  I’m sure I’ll look back in a few years time and make some zen like comment about how it was the defining year of my life, taught me so much, made me stronger, blah blah blah.  I’ll probably even write a blog about it, linking back to this very place .  Oh hey there, future Em.  How’s things?  Married a Hemsworth yet? Also, any chance you can send me next week’s winning Tattslotto numbers?

But for now, you’ve overstayed your welcome.  Can’t you see that we’re packing up around you?  I’ve sent you the ‘we need to talk’ text message, we both know this is the end, and truthfully, I’m planning to start seeing someone new, in just two days time.

But hey.  Even the very worst year only lasts 365 days, right?

Salut.  To a much sparklier 2016, we drink.

Love, Em.

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