New Year

I hate new year's eves. I used to, at least. These days I just take it easy, knock back a few with the wife and maybe some close cohorts. But in the old days, going out on the razz, ah... something always went wrong. Maybe I'd get into a row and find myself removed from the club at 11:45, scratching my head and wiping blood from my nose. Maybe I'd just feel sick from too many consecutive drinking days, and no amount of sauce is going to put it right. Maybe there's some kind of romantic squabble that is stopping me from chilling out. Maybe I just get so horrifically drunk that I slip though a cosmic fissure in the fabric of time itself (this has happened more than once).

Maybe the whole thing is a big, big anticlimax.

So I just don't do it anymore. Come midnight on the 31st, I'll be out walking the dogs. Or unconscious. Ten, nine, eight, seven... Not listening, mate.

Be that as it may, I hope the new year brings you all what you mostest desire. Personally I can see some potentially good things on the horizon, and I'm looking forward to it. But you never know, do you? It's a noir world, after all. Right?

Have a good one.

And watch out for those cosmic fissures.