Predictable end-of-year blog?

I refuse to write a "summing up of the year" item, or a "predictions for the year to come" item. It's not because I'm superior to writers who are doing that. It's just that 2015 had too much suckitude for summation, and because I'm a terrible predictor. Besides, I have little reason to anticipate 2016 being filled with wonderful things.

Startin' already.

I admit I'm in a bad place, as they say. Newark, actually. No, Newark is not a bad place. Well, parts of the place are a bad place. That's not what I mean. I'm in a bad place that makes me lose control of my own jokes. And my dreams have gone off, like a salmon in the sun.

Tuesday I dreamed I was working an office job that I knew nothing about. That afternoon I had to find time to film the final of a cooking competition show, and I didn't know what I was going to cook, but I saw the other two competitors telling the producers what they expected to make so they would have the equipment and ingredients available. That night, I knew, I was making a debut on Broadway, and I had absolutely no idea what any of my lines were, or even what the play was about.

The last one is a classic nightmare, but I've only had one like it a couple of times in my life. Here I was compounding it with not knowing what my job was and not knowing what I was supposed to do on national TV. All three of these things---good job, part on Broadway, TV spot---are things people would aspire to, and all of them only led me toward disaster because I was unprepared.

Last night's theater of the stupid subconscious was even more bizarre. Based on my dreams, I'll just say this:

1) David Wright is a nice guy but a scary driver;

2) It's impossible to do cartographical verification when you A) don't know what you're doing and B) are being driven around by a lunatic third baseman;

3) If Suicide Squad and The Hateful Eight are as weird and unsettling as in my dreams, they are destined for tiny cult status; and

4) It's hardly fair that a fellow who works so hard at corporate HQ has to go vacuum a store for its grand reopening.

I don't even want to talk about the dog in the dishwasher.

Clearly, the toys in the attic are in the midst of a full Toy Story revolt, and so if I had to make one prediction for me for 2016, it would probably be counseling, or some strong form of medication. Well, let's get through New Year's Eve and see how things look on the other side.