My reader is full of resolutions and revolutions. Bloggers promising things, swearing on pain of reduced readerships to try harder, to be better, to do something huge. Promises that are larger than themselves, a mix of introspection and extroversion. This process of pushing outwards while we look inwards.
It feels a bit dirty, like smearing my soul on a screen while people clap and cheer.
Still. That’s okay. I like a bit of dirt.
2012 felt like the second movie from The Lord Of The Rings. An awful lot of walking, exhaustion, a few battles, and a lot of time whereupon nothing was happening. For me, this was the hardest pill to swallow. I do not like nothing. Nothing is a grey entity, torn and tangled, a wispy wraith of a thing that haunts me and makes it hard to settle. Nothing is not what I wanted to be doing, but there you go. You can’t choose how your year will go.
I can feel the anticipation, sitting here. 2013 hangs just around the corner, bright with possibility and hope. I’m sure that I’ll tarnish it up shortly and knock some of the shine out of it without any effort, but the muffled hope continues, even knowing that in another twelve months it will be but a shadow of itself, waiting to be wished goodbye.
Poor Twentytwelve. It promised so many things and delivered on so few of them. No Mayan Apocalypse for starters. I can’t help but feel a little cheated there. We’d been waiting so long and then … nothing.
And thus the year ends, not with a bang, but with a whimper. Twentytwelve sits on the cliff, watching the waves break and waiting for night to fall so that we can serenade her out to sea with fireworks; the tones of a drunkenly sung Auld Lang Syne drifting around her ears.
Bloodied, but not defeated, we’ve dragged ourselves to the end of this year with nothing more than fingernails and teeth. Together we’ll stand on the cliff, raise a glass to the end of Twentytwelve and welcome in Twentythirteen, with all her gloss and glamour.
Happy New Year Internet. May your heart be full and your trouble jar empty.