Don’t call it a comeback

If there is anything satisfying about making a comeback, it is the exact moment when you close the door on misery, and stride confidently into the day.  I like to imagine “Good Day Sunshine” strumming in the background.  You smile, and put it all in the past.  A  new beginning.

It’s a good forumla for emotional victory when there is a finite end date in sight.

Since the darker days in 2005, it has nagged at me that never once will there emerge a victory date in this morass.  I envision (and have been assured by the “experts”) a more likely date when I will look back and realize that some cushion of peace descended while I was sleeping, or working, or out on an abysmal Internet date.  This is no less a victory, but one less theatrical than I might like.  I want the trumpets and the shafts of sunlight and the blissful march down Market Street.

The question then becomes whether it is more satisfying to screw up your guts and declare one momentus victory without looking back, or to push on and win a hundred little battles without realizing it.  And when you don’t really have a choice, how to find the same satisfaction in your only remaining option.

So, fuck you February 6th.  In particular, the 2005 vintage, but perhaps ad infinitum.  Making it past that day is victory enough, and one I can recognize on impact.  And briefly considering the intervening battles fought and won that I’ve not noticed immediately, I’m saying the war is won (at least nearly) anyway.

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