2025: Total Fuck-Up or Rebuilding Year? Jury’s Still Out

Let’s review the stats, shall we?

Exhibit A: I Lost My Job of 15 Years

Not in a “end of an era” kind of way.

More like a manager decision that made zero sense, followed by HR pretending it was a corporate-wide downsizing.

Fifteen years.

One goodbye email — and only after I told the guy to find someone else to teach him expense reports because I truly no longer give a shit.

Meanwhile, my boss of seven years kept his friend — the one I trained — because apparently continuity is sacred when it protects the right people.

Fine. New inning.

Exhibit B: My Dog’s Leg (the Worst Injury Report You Could Imagine)

Two surgeries.

Thirty+ vet visits.

Insurance covering nothing because of a fake “pre-existing cruciate tear.”

Except the board-certified surgeon I paid out of pocket said she never had one.

Different bone. Different issue.

And now her leg is a hollow, painful mess, possibly osteosarcoma.

We amputate Friday.

She’s on five meds a day just to stay comfortable.

Exhibit C: My Stepmother

Came to visit and had back pain. Thought it was from luggage.

Nope.

Turns out there are lesions on her spine, and she’s been in agonizing pain.

Cancer remission for ten years… and now this.

My dad is down there alone, thousands of miles away, probably reliving memories no one should have to relive.

It guts me.

Exhibit D: My New Job

Yes, I did the insane thing and started a new (better) job six weeks before the end of the year, because apparently I like to multitask emotional catastrophes.

Trying to be flawless at work

while watching my dog limp

and waiting for my dad’s texts

and managing money worries

and pretending I’m okay.

This is my brain:

Be the rookie everyone roots for — while pitching through three torn ligaments and a migraine.

Exhibit E: A Note to My Former Employer

To CA:

You can donate to Trump’s ballroom but not pay my salary?

Cool.

I hope you lose the World Series of Life.

F*** you and the horse you rode in on.

So… What Kind of Season Was 2025?

Was it a total dumpster fire of a year?

Or was it the kind of year baseball people call a “rebuilding year” — the ugly, painful season you slog through so next year’s roster actually stands a chance?

I honestly don’t know.

We’re six weeks from the end, and this year has already thrown more curveballs at me than most teams see in a decade.

But here’s the stat I’m proudest of:

I didn’t break.

I showed up.

I swung at every pitch.

I’m still standing.

(Shakier than I’d like, but standing.)

Tonight, though?

I’ll be drinking.

So what do you think?

Was 2025 a rebuild? A collapse? A comeback nobody saw coming?

I’m taking all predictions — hopeful, cynical, realistic, or unhinged.