No, don’t jump to any conclusions, I’m not being Debbie Downer, I’m not being negative or anything of the sort. I just think we expect too much from a new year.
The anticipation builds as the days of December go by, one after the other after the other. All we can think about (hope for) is how much better the next year will be. Should be. Must be. Will surely be. We keep telling ourselves and everyone we talk to that “next year will be better.” We really believe it. We console ourselves with it and look forward to the ball dropping at midnight like an addict looks forward to more drugs. It makes the crap we’re going through bearable.
It’s here. After all the anticipating. Reflecting. And reviewing. After all the planning. Promising. Goal-setting. Resolving. After all the partying. Crazy hats. Noise-making. Party favours. Popping corks. Dancing. Dining. Drinking. Kissing.
After the countdowns. Clock-watching. Drum rolls. Crowds. Couples. Tourists. Revellers. After all the singing. Cheering. Clapping. Shouting. Texting. And calling.
After all the champagne’s gone. The tabs settled. The whistles discarded. The aspirins taken. The make-up removed. The shoes kicked off. The clothes dropped on the floor. The beds turned down. And occupied. The pillows pounded. The lights off.
After the morning after. The hangovers. The headaches. The red eyes. The sore throats. The upset stomachs. The moans. The groans. The recriminations.