Okay. Phew. It’s five in the evening, I’m at home with my bum knee, and I’ve got an hour before I need to get myself up, get myself together, and get to the theater for our holiday variety show. It’s opening night. Woo. I’ll let you know how it goes. Really, if I can get my pants on, things should be fine. If I can’t–well–the audience may get more than they’ve bargained for.

Earlier today I went to see my therapist, and when I walked in on crutches, her receptionist said, “WHAT did you do?” After I explained, she told me how she once tore her ACL while playing Fantasy Football. No kidding, apparently she got excited while watching a game, jumped up from the couch to hoot and holler, and her leg just gave out. So you know–shit happens, you’re never alone in your challenges, and all that.

Merry Christmas.

When my therapist walked into the waiting room and saw me, she did a double take and literally took a step back. After a brief pause she said, “I can see you have A LOT going on today.” Then as I stood up and grabbed my crutches–which are decorated with tinsel and a Christmas stocking because of the theater show I’m in–my therapist disappeared. Reemerging from wherever she went, she dropped a handful of candy into my stocking. “Candy for Tiny Tim–No!–TALL Tim,” she said. Later she added, “Hopefully everyone else will take the hint, and that thing will be overflowing by Christmas.”

Fingers crossed.

About my injury and how frustrating it’s been for me (because this year has been one damn thing after another), my therapist reminded me that “not everyone who shits on you is your enemy.” This is something she’s said before and comes from a story about a small bird whose wings froze one winter. There this little fella was, stuck on the ground shivering to death, and a cow came by and took a dump on him. Well, the heat from the manure thawed the bird out, and he was saved! (Cute, right?) Anyway–“The universe has taken a shit on you,” she said, “but we don’t know WHY. We don’t know what GOOD could come from this or what DOORS this may open.”

Then she said, “And it’s okay to be pissed off and tell 2018 to go fuck itself.”

Go fuck yourself, 2018.

The other thing my therapist said about my current situation is that it’s always darkest before the dawn. Well, she said that it’s always darkest before things turn around, but that doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue. “The myths are full of stories about how things get worse before they get better,” she said, “and that’s because myths mirror real life.” (Personally, I have the getting worse part down and am waiting on the getting better part.) Then when I told her that several people are taking my injuring myself as an opportunity to remind me that I’m no longer a spring chicken (aren’t people great?), she said, “You’re ONLY 27! How old do they want you to be–17?!”

This is why I give her all my money.

All right, I’m wrapping this up and am going to TRY to wiggle into my jeans, my dress shoes, and my slightly undersized sweater that says, “Ho Ho Ho.” And to be clear, that’s something Santa says, not a reference to my moral character or what I act like on the weekends.