One hour to go. The death of another year and the birth of the next.
Just before 10pm, I rang my boy. He answered eventually, and it turns out that he was not where I thought he would be. He was working. In a nightclub. A very busy nightclub with lots of apparently happy people.
Happy New Year!
-Thanks love, where are you?
At home, alone...
-Alone? Where is everybody else?
Out. With friends, loved ones, alcohol... So the 3rd wheel is at home, by herself, in the dark.
-Wish we were together...
Me too, from the bottom of my miserable, selfish heart. Me too...
I feel so down tonight it's unbelievable.
No festive lights to sit underneath. No person to see in the new year with. Not even the friendly light from a neighbour's house.
I am tempted to go outside in the drizzle and sit with the jolly musical snowmen over the road, but I don't want to bring them down.
Back to ye olde assassination on the PS it seems.
And so we roll onward. To the Olympic games; my turning (a very young) 30; the impending apocalypse.
Happy New Year! I really mean it, dear readers, I wish you every happiness, every success, every opportunity, and a thousand happy moments.
