Another Year Gone By

I'm not getting worked up about New Year's Eve this year. I've done some housework, ordered a pizza, talked to Tim (about which more in a minute), folded laundry...nothing special, nothing emotional, nothing really even other-than-ordinary. I have some resolutions but they're sort of works-in-progress; some of them, I think, may be too big to fit into one designated night.

Anyway, about the Tim thing: I kinda had to give him a pass when he called a couple of days later and left me a message in which he basically asked questions I'd already answered, claiming to remember nearly nothing about the morning I kicked him out. Further discussion led to the following: "After you invited me out of your place--which was just...unreal to me; I swear I heard Disney music in my head--anyway, I don't remember much of anything except that I somehow ended up downtown and I threatened to beat the shit out of a cabbie because he nearly hit me. I mean, yeah I was drunk, but I STILL had the right-of-way!!!" And of course, he apologized profusely. It's cool, I told him. I know his situation really sucks enormously right now; he's not allowed to be an asshole at my apartment anymore, but if he's willing NOT to be an asshole, he's welcome here. Which is pretty much what I told him. I'm low on friends right now; I'm really not willing to push anyone out of my life.

This year has gone by so fast. Hell, this DECADE has gone by so damn fast; it was nine years ago tonight I really-quit heroin for the first time, and three years tonight since I quit after my relapse. This is generally a good night for me to make big changes, I guess. (Pause, while I redirect my thoughts from another New Year's Eve, seventeen years ago, and how much I wish I had that kind of spirit again. But...yeah. Past and gone, Gladys, past and gone.)

2009. That looks just...astonishing, to me. (And I'm really going to miss writing "2008". I LIKE eights. They're fun to write, like little decapitated snowmen, and I'm kinda bummed that I'm going to have to wait another nine years before I can start writing them again. And maybe when I'm 48 it won't be so much fun anymore.)

When I'm 48....yeesh. Now THAT's one for the let's-not-think-about-it file. I'm still amazed that I'm 38. Is it cliche to say I don't FEEL thirty-eight?? (Fortunately, I don't LOOK thirty-eight, either; people generally peg me somewhere in the late 20's, like 26 or thereabouts. But one of my smaller resolutions for this year involves maybe starting to wear foundation, maybe, just to take the edge off my extreme pinkness. If Bare Minerals drops their price some, maybe.)

I want to do big things this year. I'd be more confident about that, though, if I could get a handle on the little things--getting out of bed before dinnertime on my days off, maybe, or eating meals that don't consist of Froot Loops and Pepsi. Maybe I'd be smarter to tackle the REALLY big things, and take my little comforts where I find them, like in a box with a giant toucan on the front. Who knows?

It's a strange way for me to end a year, really; but since the old ways haven't really served me too well, I'll try this one for a change. But regardless, I wish you all a happy New Year, and hope that all of you have the year you wish for.