Something about the end of the holidays makes me feel like a balloon with a pin-hole, air slowly and quietly escaping until I'm flat and rubbery on the floor. Figuratively, of course.
Literally, I feel like a balloon stuffed full of butter, cheese, and chocolate. I should never want to eat any of those things again, having over-indulged to the point of shame and illness, and yet I continue to put them in my mouth-hole, chew, and swallow.
Oh man oh man oh man am I happy this year is ending. I just didn't really like this year, dudes. There were neat parts of it and all, but mostly I felt frozen; stalled. I always love the fresh feeling of the start of a new year. Does everyone feel it? It feels like new chances. It's almost like when you start a new job, before the employees know what a complete freak you are. There's a chance to make a really good impression on people before you start talking to yourself and compulsively chewing on the ends of your hair.
I always say this -- I know I do -- but next year is going to be something else. Big things will happen. It could be anything. I feel like I don't know what's going to happen, but it's going to be big, and it's going to be good. There are so many things I want to do, and I figure I'm going to try to do all of it. I hear you now, you're saying Stop with all the goal-setting, you're setting yourself up for failure and disappointment. I would stop if I could, dudes. It's just the New Year feels so full of hope to me.