Alright! Survived another one.

I feel like Snoopy of Peanuts! I want to run around with happy feet, ears flapping in the wind, nose up, eyes closed, and a big smile of relief on my face. Unfortunately, I cannot do that as I am not a cartoon character. Suffice it to say that I am simply happy another Christmas has come and gone and all I have to do now is survive New Year’s Eve and then New Year’s Day. I can do it. I can do it. Just like the Little Train that said it could get up the hill, I can do it. One more night and a day and I’ll be safe in another year.  Really?

Why do people get all excited about moving from one set of ending numbers (2011 to 2012) when that is all that has happened?

I’m sorry. I suppose I am depressing a whole bunch of people. I can visualize them in  a group standing and pointing and looking my way all thinking, “What is he talking about? What a Scrooge. He should be glowing (glowing???) that we are now in a new year and all the wonders of the new…….”


Being in a new year doesn’t mean anything except the date has changed. Simple. Period. We just changed the ending number and are starting to count all over again until we do the same thing in 365 or so days. That’s it. Over. Done. Nothing to get flipping excited about.

God! And the damn fireworks. My neighbors all go out and spend huge amounts of cash on things that go BANG and scare my dogs and everyone else’s dogs and leave my nerves shot.  They send rockets skyward. But what goes up comes down and land on roofs, cars, screened porches (where the burn holes in the screening) and in the flowers. Wow. I am so impressed with the outpouring of exuberant elation that I wake from my sleep at midnight and step into the new year with a yawn and a prayer that a downpour will suddenly take place as I’d rather be asleep with lightening and thunder as the annoying night passes (which, knowing my neighbors, is only the start of two weeks of celebrations) than M-80s going off down by the corner.

Oh well, thank God the angels created bourbon.

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