The New Year

Let me entertain the notion, for a moment, that life and its circumstances can be broken down neatly into one-year units, because maybe then I can say with some conviction: 2014 was the worst year ever, and I'm glad to see it gone. Maybe then I can believe that things will be different in 2015, that the grief and pain and sheer damn aggravation from so many things will not carry over into the next twelve months. Let me believe that for a while.

I won't lie: When I think about it, what I really want from 2015 is a natural, quick, and painless death. I honestly don't know what I want more than that any more; I'm even having second thoughts about another book. But I know that that very specific kind of death is hard to come by. If I can't have that, then maybe I can have a year with less health problems and personal issues to deal with. Less discomfort. Less frustration. More things to look forward to, even if I don't know what those things might be. Oh, and prosperity and happiness for Mick, my family, and friends, if the universe can manage it. That would be nice.