I think that I'm officially over new years.
Logically, there should be nothing terribly special about the beginning of a new year. I'm fairly convinced that years actually only exist because somewhere, lost in the mists of history, stationery stores were struggling. Some enterprising young sales assistant was suddenly hit with an "Aha!" moment and dropped the pile of stone tablets inscribed with Dan Brown's latest flop he'd been dusting to run and tell his boss.
"Boss, boss!" he cried. "I've figured out a way to save us all! Why don't we cut up the time periods into these things called "years"? We could then break it down into "months" and then "days"."
The boss thought he was crazy, and prepared to feed him to a lion which happened to be browsing the computer consumbables aisle.
"But don't you see?" pleaded the salesman. "Everyone would have to buy this thing called a "calendar", every year, just to keep track of the days, months and years. We'll have gold for Africa!"
"What's Africa?" puzzled the boss, and fed the salesman to the lion anyway. But he did take the idea and run with it, and he did indeed make piles and piles of gold, which kept him in good spirits until his death five years later when a stack of stone calendars he'd forgotten to take down fell off his wall and crushed him like a bug.
Since the dawn of the current millenium, new years have without fail brought something bad. Perhaps I accidentally stepped on the wrong reincarnated-wizard-spider that year. Who knows? Either way, something has it in for me during the holiday season.
Last year, I was so sick I thought I was going to die. Missed all the barbeques and parties and everything. This year, I thought, I'll make up for it and party myself stupid. (It would perhaps have been helpful if someone had informed me I didn't need to party, the deed was already done). Instead I saw in 2011 watching episodes of M*A*S*H and drinking a glass of milk and tears.
For those of you who haven't been following my whiny emo Facebook statuses lately, me and vampire boy are now quits. So instead of having fun in the sun with not a care in the world, I find myself unable to eat or sleep or keep mascara in place. Wah.
So, I have come up with a plan. There will be no 2012. This time twelve months hence, I will be dating my forms 3/13/2011. Twenty-four months from now, it'll be 3/25/2011. The plan is infallible.
Who's with me?