I went to a New Year’s Eve party with shotguns taped to my chair. They were plastic. The party was post-apocalyptic. Because, y’know, the world is supposed to end in this year. Depending on whom you speak to. I think we’re good. Even better now that I know what day it is.
You see, I lost a day or two back there. I know I’m not the only one. Happy New Year, folks. I hope you’re caught up, too.
Even though New Year’s Eve saw my last pint of cider for a while, we still rolled home at about 4 in the morning. Just in time to see a half-naked, badly tanned man stagger out of the lift and have a complete stranger declare me Queen from the stairwell.
The rest of the journey to the flat was relatively uneventful. I transferred out of the chair with my guns still in place and everyone said good morning at 3 the next afternoon.
By the time I had my Annual New Year’s Day Cry, ripped the guns off and bumped into some coffee, it was time to go to Sarge’s parents’ for dinner. On the way out, we met a girl tottering on her heels and weaving out the front door. Good times?
Now. It was dark when we got home and dark when we went out for round two. I was confused.
‘I’m confused’, I said to Sarge and our friend. I knew a day had passed somewhere, but WHERE did it go? And HOW did I miss it?
‘I’m very disconcerted,’ I said. ‘We haven’t seen daylight today. Are you sure it’s gone? This is some trippy shit. Is this the Apocalypse?’
And I wasn’t even hung-over.
But I did lose the power of speech sometime after dinner. We came home, and I was saved by Saving Grace. We woke up the next afternoon.
‘It’s Groundhog Day’, I said.
No, it’s New Year. Again.
And so, Happy New Year, again. Since it’s kind of happened twice for me, I have decided it will be extra awesome.
And I hope it is for you, too.