New Year’s Eve is such a great time to party. Nobody expects you to be bright eyed and bushy-tailed in the morning. In fact, they might not even expect to see you in the morning, because if you’re lucky, you’ll get to sleep in the next day, and nobody will see hide or hair of you until the afternoon.
I watched the New Year roll around with my family, or most of it, anyway (some of them were off to parties where tender eighteen-year-olds are not allowed). We toasted with sparkling cranberry-raspberry juice in little paper cups and then pretended the stuff didn’t taste absolutely horrible while we drank it.
Normally, I’d be talking about my resolutions about now, but I’m going to be honest: I forgot to make any. I’m a champion procrastinator, after all.
That said I’m still optimistic about 2012. It started with my being surrounded by people I love and who love me. How much better can it get? There’s a whole twelve months ahead of me, months that I know I’ll fill up with triumphs and screw-ups, laughter, writing, reading, love, and maybe some tears, too. Tears of happiness, hopefully.
I love the arrival of a new year as much as anybody, but thank God I have twelve months between me and another plastic cup of sparkling cranberry-raspberry juice.