For each year of the last several, by the time it rolls around to the end, the majority of people I talk to, listen to, or read from cannot wait to wave goodbye to the old calendar year, and maybe give it a kick in the pants on its way out the door. Has there been a year in recent memory that was so full of wonderfulness that we were all sad to see it end? I can't think of one. The last few have been a non-stop series of punches to the gut for me. 2017 was no exception. We have all aged a decade in the last twelve months. I'm not the only one who is burned out and fed up. We're battle-scarred, rangy, and a little hung over from self-medicating at this point. I kind of feel like we are lined up, staring at 2018 with a menacing squint, uttering foul curses as we dare it to do its worst. It's not like we could stop it if we tried. Might as well press on.
We went to the mountains again to ring in the new year. Last year we were up only during the day, and by midnight we were tuckered out down the hill. Pretty sure I had even crawled in bed by the time 2017 started, with my granddog burrowed under the covers, hiding from the sound of fireworks in the street. This time we stuck it out in the casino until the champagne toast. I tend to draw symbolism from what I'm doing on New Year's Eve, so perhaps it is fitting that I ride into so much uncertainty by spending several hours gambling. It's all just one big risk anyway.
It's late. Really late. I need to see what pictures I took, of silly headgear and one-armed bandits refusing to play nice. And then I need to sleep until it's time to make the black-eyed peas and greens. Welcome to the future, y'all. Good luck. We're gonna need it.
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