Maybe there is something nice about being at work at 5:30 on a Saturday morning.
When I was turning seven a relative of mine sat me down and told me that the year he was seven was the best of his life. I remember thinking how odd that was, he must have been in his late thirties or forties. A lot of kids would have been enthused by the idea of having a great year, I was more concerned with the fact that if seven was going to be my best year...what the hell was there to look forward to?
Then I turned thirteen, and that same relative sat me down again and told me that the year he was thirteen was the best year of his life. It was then that I realized, like most of my relatives, he was full of shit. But that was ok, I was sort of relieved. For six years I had carried with me the fear that I could have possibly peaked at seven years old...
Anyone who reads this regularly, or knows me at all, understands that I run hot and cold. But that after 22 years I finally had seemed to hit my stride. There was, in the past year, A Palombonian Golden Age. Like any indefinite time period it's tough to nail down when it starts and when it ends. This one is particularly tough to peg because the good and the bad are impossible to distinguish from each other. Only I know how it goes.
For me it started on Olde Queens at about 7 o'clock one year ago tonight. So much has happened since then. So much love, loss, and everything in between. It kills me. It hurts me. It makes me feel so damn good to know that I've had this year, this wonderful, frightening, emotional year. Thank you to everyone who was a part of it. For me the year ends tonight, with little fanfare and little notice, it ends tonight. I have nothing going on, nothing planned, nothing to do at all. I'll sit alone in my apartment and watch the best year of my life slip away. This, without a doubt, has been the best year of my life...so far.
Just so that you know...
We Palomba's don't fall down...we crash and burn. But this Palomba always bounces back.
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