New Years Eve is nearly upon us. Tonight, I was strongly considering going to bed at 9pm. And you want me to go out tomorrow-on a Friday night, after another whole day of work, and driving in express lanes, and getting a short lunch and getting yelled at on the phones. I’m supposed to go drinking in someone’s living room or basement bar, waiting up for some ball to drop? Why? So I can kiss my husband at midnight? I can do that in my own bed, in my ugly old pajamas. At 9:30 if I want.
But I’ll go. I’ll go out, and stay out longer than planned, and have fun, but not really. It’ll be fun enough that I’ll be ready to leave sooner than everyone else, because I’ve learned that staying until the end of the party is always a disappointment. Don’t wait around, expecting things to get really out of hand. Leave while the party is still jumping…before it falls off the rails.
Tonight, on the second to last day of 2010, I’m not being retrospective or nostalgic. The jury is still out on how I feel about this past year, in a lot of ways. Instead of thinking about how I feel about all of it, I’m opting for blogging in bed, trying to ignore the terrible taste in the back of my throat that is acid reflux caused by the onion-and-fake-mexican-sausage-biscuit-bowl from Bob Evans.
I think this year is about due to end. My biscuty burps tell me that 2010 is about to fall off the rails.
First Whistle 