My phone is telling me Typepad needs to update its currently unavailable app. So apt.

A friend asked me recently if I was participating in something all the bloggers do, and I recoiled in surprise because it's been almost a decade since I really identified as a blogger. I'm talking to myself at this point.

I started 2016 by getting a plate and six screws put surgically in my leg. By March, I could run again. In July, my cat almost died for the fifth time. In August, my convertible got T-boned and I got laid off from what was once my dream job. I finished paying for the cat's emergency vet about the same time unemployment kicked in. It maxes out at $288/week after taxes and lasts about 20 weeks, if you've ever wondered. I'll run mine out in 8 more weeks.

Then, Trump.

Friends, 2016 has been the biggest test of my life.

I'm scared.
I'm frustrated.
I'm so pissed off.

This is what you realize after you survive double maternal cancer, an eating disorder, being valedictorian, bungee jumping, graduating early Phi Beta Kappa, moving to Chicago, flying to Australia, moving to your parents' basement, long months of loneliness in Kansas City, falling in love with your husband, grad school writer's workshop fever dream, Internet bubble, bubble bursting, husband lay-off #1, marriage, downstairs neighbor found dead, house purchase, pregnancy, childbirth, postpartum depression, start up #2 falling apart, vacations, vasectomy, move before housing collapse, husband lay-off #2, massive credit card debt, cats, trips, I'm an author!, dream job, another acquisition, lay-off, five months of low-level terror.

And I am pissed.
And I am scared.
And I am still here.

Please, 2017, be better.