By the time I finish this post, it will officially be 2011. I don't know if I necessarily have a tradition for the holiday, but on New Year's Eve I typically watch the ball drop on TV, cry (both for how pathetic the previous year had been plus having little hope for the next year to be different), then write the first journal entry of the year. And this year I was able to have a toast with a little Jaegermeister I had left from when I still had friends. The booze did help lighten the dark mood just a little. Sounds sad, but when I thought I had other plans (nothing grand--just babysitting) I almost missed the idea of this ritual.
And I don't make resolutions anymore. I can't stick to anything no matter what the date happens to be. If I did though, it would be the usual: find love, find purpose, get something published. There's not much else in my life that I don't have besides that. I have a job, a great DVD collection, a fantastic library... I'm just missing the intangibles. Everyone tells me to stop wanting it, and I'll get it. Ha. I laugh in their faces. Why? Because even though they have it, they sure aren't happy with it. And if they are, they're lying.
My toast to 2011: "May you not suck as bad a years past and may you bring into my life exciting adventure." There. celebration is over. Off to bed.
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