Rinse, Repeat

“’Round here, we stay up very, very, very, very late” --- Adam Duritz, Counting Crows: “Round Here”

It’s no secret that I’ve long dreaded and loathed Sunday nights, nor that in so doing, I’ve had lots of company.  Well, tonight is the Mother of All Sunday Nights for 2016.  The Mother of the Year, so to speak.

The holidays are over – that’s the good news.  My personal and familial rituals have been completed.  I’ve passed the inspection and received my sticker, so I’m good for another year.  Another predictable, fungible year of being Jerry.

This is traditionally New Year’s Resolution season. At lunch tomorrow, we’ll find that the lines at salad bars everywhere have tripled in length. And we will know, as always, that they’ll be back to normal by February.  We humans are downright silly when it comes to deluding ourselves. We are overwhelmingly creatures of habit. I know this well, and so, some time ago, I abandoned the annual pretense of practicing self-deception with regard to self-betterment.  In the immortal words of the sage philosopher, Popeye, “I Yam What I Yam.” 

Here’s what I already know about 2016:

- It will snow heavily at some point, soon.  The winter storm(s) will be timed such that I will need to suit up in late-1990’s Gore-Tex ski clothing and snow-blow our 200 foot driveway in the middle of the night, repeatedly, so as to ensure that we’ll all have adequate egress to get to work in the morning.  Frankly, I am getting too old for this activity, so I’ll daydream about moving to a warmer climate as I go about my thankless chore, but I’ll do nothing to make that daydream a reality.  Well, I’ll continue to receive Trulia e-mail updates about Sarasota condos, but they’ll accomplish nothing except to further fuel my ennui.

- During 2016, I’ll be summoned to New Jersey multiple times by my nonagenarian mother, who is increasingly afflicted by dementia, to perform such tasks as replacing smoke detector batteries in the “That 70’s Show” house in which she still lives; or – my personal favorite - installing / removing a single window air conditioner.  Yes, a 500 mile round trip for a five minute task, necessitated by her perception that I, and only I, am capable of completing this intricate mission correctly.  There’s water in those things, you know; make sure to drain it… center it on the plastic sheet, it’ll ruin my [40 year old] carpet…     

- I’ll try to convince my wife to take a “real vacation” – like a Caribbean cruise or somesuch - during her April break from teaching elementary school, to celebrate our 20^th wedding anniversary – which took place six years ago.  She will initially agree, but as the time draws closer and I start saving trip itineraries on Travelocity, she’ll back away and refuse, on the grounds that she hasn’t yet completed her “MCAS-Alts” (Massachusetts special needs teacher / standardized testing stuff, “no child left behind” and all that) and that she’ll need to spend the week doing that work, and also that she believes she’ll come down with the flu during her break – which, eerily, will actually happen.  She’ll be sick as a dog.  There will be no trip.  In 2017, the tally will be seven years.  Rinse, repeat.

- There will be at least one, and more likely, several unanticipated, significant expenses that will effectively negate my progress toward saving for retirement.  These may take the form of home repairs, car repairs (or more likely, given the composition of the fleet, car replacement,) electronics (laptops / smartphones / TVs / whatever,) major medical bills, supporting-adult-child expenses (D2 will be in Australia for half the year; that’s got to lead to something beyond what we’ve planned for,) or supporting-elderly-parent expenses. Yes, we are the poster children for the Sandwich Generation.  One step forward, two steps back.  Again.

- I’ll continue to be increasingly disappointed by escalating, extremist posts and rants from friends and family members at both ends of the political spectrum on social media.  I’m all-in for free speech, but the distance we have collectively placed between ourselves and the civility that our society once enjoyed troubles me deeply.  Blame our political leaders if you want, but [channeling Smokey the Bear] you and only you are responsible for your use of the “enter” key.  I’ll toy with the idea of going dark, seceding from the Social Media Circus for a while… but in the end, I’ll continue to check for updates, continue to shake my head, continue to jump in… it is what it is, and I Yam What I Yam.    

- In November, 2016, there will be an election.  It will be anticlimactic.  Hopefully, casualties will be minimal.

- In December, 2016, I’ll tally up my unused vacation time, only to discover that, despite my best efforts to spend as much time as possible on Cape Cod beaches during the summer months, I will once again be left with an embarrassingly large stash of “use-it-or-lose-it” time off at year end.  Now, this is a very nice problem to have; and it’s one that I habitually share with a considerable number of my colleagues, based on observed year-end staffing levels.  While my down-time preference would have been three weeks in July on the boat that I no longer own, I will nonetheless welcome the two weeks or so at the end of the year.  This extended time way from the rat-race provides me with a glimpse into what life may be like, should I actually live long enough to retire (If I were a Vegas odds-maker, I’d place this at around 50-50.)   It looks something like this:

My body reverts to its natural circadian rhythms, which I have been mightily battling for 35 years.  For contrarian reasons that defy rational explanation, I’ve been among the ‘first people in the office’ throughout my working life.  This has translated to rude awakenings to the tyranny of a 5:30 AM alarm clock for as long as I can recall.  But I am, by nature, a night person. For a couple of weeks each December, I am afforded the luxury of watching old (or, thanks to streaming video, new-ish) movies until 2:00 am, and sleeping until 10:00 am. That’s the real me.  During my waking hours, I feel more alive, less fatigued. This is definitely a change that I need to make.  Sadly, it will end – again – tomorrow morning; but I remain optimistic that I’ll live to see a time when I’ll be able to stay up very, very, very, very late, every night.

By virtue of having the time to do so, I get organized. Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve updated software all over the place (did I mention that, as a card-carrying member of Sandwich Generation Nation, I am Tech Support for three generations’ worth of electronic devices?)  I’ve shredded mountains of paper. I’ve updated financial plans and forecasts (mixed results there.)  I’ve gotten the “fleet” of four vehicles up-to-date on maintenance and car-washes.  I’ve cycled our gasoline reserves (out with the old, ethanol-laden July “summer” gas; in with the new, preservative-protected winter-formula gas for all manner of small engines, from generator to snowblower to leaf-blower to tractor.)  I’ve spent quality time with my dog.  This kind of stuff is priceless.

I’ve maximized my online reach with regard to buying stuff.  I finally broke down and joined Amazon Prime (I’d been a long-time holdout, but the free shipping finally got to me.)  Now I’ve gone a little crazy with Amazon Music playlists, updating my newest toy (er, smartphone) with music.  I’ve saved search profiles on Craigslist and several other, more specific sites, in search of the perfect boat / car / real estate investment / deal-of-a-lifetime.  Sure, none of that may come to pass, but what the hell?  It’s not gambling if you haven’t spent a dime, right?  If there’s one skill I’ve honed over the years, it’s how to spot a deal.  And so I’ll keep looking.

There’s food now. Time for decent restaurants.  And draft beer.  And good bourbon.  Contrast this with daily black coffee for breakfast, PB&Js for lunch, and Cheerios for dinner, with everyone too busy to produce or await much else, and the alarm set too early to indulge. Self-explanatory. 

Somehow, amidst all this quasi-narcissistic busy-ness, I’ve managed to dispatch holiday-related familial obligations, including the obligatory in-law and distant family-of-origin visits (with dog along for both!)  If we’ve slighted anyone in the holiday merriment process, it was not by design.  For example, we sent virtually no Christmas Cards this year… basically, only the elderly, non-social-media users in our sphere got them; so if you’re reading this, we beg your forgiveness… just think of the trees saved.

And with this, I need to wrap… it’s 2016, and it’s almost bedtime.  To those who haven’t yet heard it from me, Happy New Year.  Odds are, we’ll be right back here again, a year from now, ready to take on 2017.