Kind of ecstatic that this horrible clusterfuck of a year is about to meet it’s own end. But there ends my anger. Because New Year is my favourite time ever.
An end to one thing and the beginning of a new chapter. And the chance to start again. Year after year after year. It’s the cleverest thing society has come up with.
Although 2018 turned out to be almost totally painful, it really wasn’t a wasted year. I got to look after my Mum. I got to build some rickety looking bridges with my brothers. I confirmed that I have some fucking excellent friends. And realistically, that’s more than enough for me to get by.
2019 will perhaps bring different challenges. Finding my foothold again. Trying to stop those ropey bridges from disintegrating. And keeping everything else’s head above water at the same time. But when tomorrow’s bells finally strike for a new year, there’s a magnificent chance to hit reset. So I hope to leave a lot of the shitty stuff behind me, where it probably belongs.
That’s enough positivity from me though because… just fuck 2018 entirely. And the scabby horse it rode into town. I hope it rots in a million tiny pieces. You may consequently hear an eerie tapping at the stroke of midnight tomorrow, please do not worry or feel alarmed. It’s just going to be me dancing on this crappy year’s motherfucking grave.