nd welcome to that suspect time of year that we sorta set aside for some serious soul-searching, some sober second thought, and … some other S-words. Also for a bit of personal “re-evaluation,” possibly all leading to a lot of terminal “introspection.” Big words – had to look ’em up.
This might all have a fair bit to do with the fog of Christmas past, I guess, or the sudden shock of writing “2016” on stuff, and a lot to do with the distinct scent of mortality that wafts through the house the deeper we get into the ol’ lifespan. And it’s normal, natural to reel a bit from such things, and to want to respond in some real and worthwhile way.
Of course, all the mirror-time we went through last January, that resulted in a pledge to do gooder, try harder, get better and be wickeder … that kinda all went away somewhere, right. We vaguely remember something about it, but that person staring back at us this January looks, if anything, slightly even more shot that ever. So of course we are somewhat rattled and a tad shook up at the moment. We got to do some serious pondering, here. Yeah.
The plastic provider
If only there was time to work it all out, eh boy? Or the funds to fly to some foreign refuge, corner a guru on a God-forsaken mountain-top and whine away at him until HE hops off the cliff. That would help. But that’s folly, of course. Flights are expensive and they make you pay for every bag, now. Knobs.
So we sit and stew and moan and groan and wear out all the ears closer to home, while pretending to listen to the similar gripes of others, as if their problems matter at all in the face of ours. And then the mail comes, and comes, until you finally get up the energy and nerve to toddle down the street to that new tin box the Post Office stuck up last fall, just far enough away to not be worth getting out of the pajama-pants…
Oh yeah, you remembers the Visa bill, dontcha? You know, the thing what just got a whole lot fatter there last month? The Christmas Curse? The Monster of Merry? The Plastic Provider, the Slice of Santa? Yeah, you won’t be ramming that wafer in a slot for awhile, eh boy? Shoom … DECLINED. Send in the clouds.
But, truth be told, I kind of like all the credit-card horror this time a year. Yeah, because they wouldn’t give me one. Not even close! And “Ya-hoo,” I figure. My best gift came as a “No” from the Bank. Thanks, boys. I feel about 24 per cent better. Charge this, lah.
And if you, at any point in this ‘pause’ period of 2016, feel like the climb is just too steep and the slogging-on just too hard? I say to you take heart, my friend, for it certainly could be worse – you could be Dwight Ball, eh boy. Ay yi yi….
Anyway, whatever it is what makes us go gonzo at the end of every year, and repent in equal force at the beginning of the next, I tell ya, I for one am glad it’ll be soon out of the system. For there is a bag limit on party-time and Fogville, I say. And as soon as I get Dougie back from the dry cleaners, he’ll tell you the same thing. Dougie knows. He’s the king of remorse.
Yup – time to clear out, shape up, and get on wit it, I say. ’15 is gone, ’16 looms large. A new day is dawning, full of hope and opportunity. The promise of a pristine canvas on which to paint our personal Utopia, with the pigment of human potential.
Rise up, I say, and go forth. Rally and win this day –make it all gooder than before, more perfect than the past. Be all that you can be – though not in the military. New goals, new targets. Strive, strive, strive throughout the year ahead. Because I guarantee ya, come the end of it … there’ll be a wicket tear, followed by some 2017 soul-searching. Enjoy. Right on.