Year in Review, 2015 Worst of the Year: Posey Beds and Swamp People

Oh, heaven, how I hated all these things.

Last year was the first year I began adding a Worst of the Year post. The standout senses in the Sensorium tend to be pleasant ones, but Molly Tenebaum's poem "Ode to the Ugly Colors," in The Cupboard Artist out from Floating Bridge Press reminded me that there is art and value in recording some distress and ugliness.

The Sensorium strongly favors what delights, but some senses rankle and these get highlighted in my year end review. Here comes the bile — the worst of each sense and the worst sense of the year:

Tastes - a multi-win for bad liquor! hmm, note to self: For whatever reason, I was curious and excited to try this alcohol combination —absinthe and Chambord— and The Lovecraft Bar delivered in a drink fittingly named Unpleasant Dreams; whiskey drinks or whiskey-flavored cider — ew!; and, sorry Iceland, your liqueurs whether made of Icelandic moss, birch, blueberry or crowberry all made the list (Well, we tried!).

Sight - true distress: homeless people living in tents on the sidewalks of Portland — it's no Utah; the worst TV show goes to Swamp People on the History Channel featuring reprehensible people killing 50-year-old reptiles — when you are in the oncology unit with your dying father and the roommate next door is watching it — this show mercilessly heaps horror upon horror.

Sound - no contest, a clear winner: Licking, biting, gnawing - tending wounds and washing — Dad's miserable allergy-ridden old dog who outlived him.

Touch - Iceland wins again: In the running were: the brush with disaster that could have been my head hitting rock on a hiking trail and the irritating weirdness of a key jammed in the car door lock. However, worst goes to the bitter bite of Iceland's cold and the wind blowing up off The Pond and in the middle of a downpour. It doesn't matter if you are in: one pair of boots, three pairs of socks, three pairs of pants, five shirts, two hoodies, two hats, one scarf, two pair gloves, and an overcoat — it's still cold. And the wind whips those hats right off your head. Alas!

Smell - an ongoing worst: the stench of grilled torture, charbroiled suffering and smoked murder that billows out of the nearby Burger King and permeates the air around the track where I am running.

Extra: Other worsts included the stupid The Hugo Awards Controversy (although going to Sasquan, watching the Hugos and yelling, "No award!" with my reunited writing group was a highlight);  the racist neighborhood watch lady; when the "good cancer" turned to bad and the three things that likely caused Dad's death—smoking, pesticides and meat/dairy, take your pick.

However, absolute worst of the year goes to coming to the hospital and seeing your Dad in a POSEY BED (aka cage) "for his own safety," whatever. I get it. Still sucks. Worst.

What is this? My Year in Review.