It started on a Friday, with a suicide bombing in Pakistan,
while I nursed a hangover and navigated Dublin snow
which had just turned to dirty grey sludge when we heard about Haiti,
later to be overshadowed by 8.8 and tsunamis in Chile,
though we were more concerned when misbehaving volcanoes
grounded us in chaotic airports.
This year we watched waters spoiled by oil, and worried about shortages
and tutted at the ineptitude of the Grecian government,
not knowing what was coming in six months time.
We fell out with the French over handballs and cheating
and shook buckets for the sake of those deceased and displaced
by Pakistani monsoon rains.
We allowed ourselves a feel-good moment watching rescued miners
and one of bemused bafflement by antihydrogen atoms at CERN,
then watched in anger as our country faced financial disaster,
making November about bailouts and blizzards
and losing faith in the things we used to rely on
in foolish complacency.
At the start of it I was different; a simple passing change
inexplicably darkened the days to seeming insurmountability
which cannot be attributed to any one happening,
but soon it will be over and we can dust ourselves off
and begin the important work of forgetting,
not learning anything.