The Part Where We Stroll Into the New Year

The way I see it, the last few minutes of New Year’s Eve is like two ends of a bridge that are about to join together. In one side is the young, naïve, sprightly guy ready to run into the unknown future - while the other side is the dishevelled, unshaved, lethargic guy who walked as though the world weighted upon him. When the bridge connects, they’d shake hands, bid each other farewell and go on with their ways.

This happens every year. The naïve guy would always run ahead, taking the falls and the obstacles whichever they came first. The tired man would walk and sigh and wonder how it was that he never took time to look around. They’d reach the same end of the bridge every year. How they do so is like those time-paradoxical things that are best left unexplained.

There is a lesson here somewhere, but I’m too confused trying to figure out how this continuum thing works.

***

I should probably try writing about things in retrospect, and I think I’ve been trying to do it for every year to no avail. If the New Year’s is like the connecting bridge, then my guys would be sitting around chatting about Marshmallows while playing cards, and when the bridge split again they’d look at each other with shocked expressions. One might even try to jump. He never makes it.

So the year that was is, once again, a blur. Maybe pre-New Year brains are just that mushy. Maybe I’m simply too lazy to try and reminisce a year where things barely happened. Truthfully, nothing happened. I had gone through another year by staring dead into space and drooling. Time simply rolled on, carefully avoiding tipping me over. And when they did, I just drooled into the ground.

There, it was dark and comfortable and I dreamt of Nice Things.

***

Alright, maybe I can try and remember the past year.

(And I’ll be doing so by going through my 2010 blog entries, just to help my mushed up brain).

I remember doing a lot of flying. Much more than one could ever dream of, even if flying weren’t their cup of tea. But I had flown. I had gone to Bali, and Bangkok, and Jakarta, and a few times to Singapore. And then, of course, there was Japan. I have a lot to love about my job, and the constant flying was one of them.

I remember my great grandma’ passing. I remember the funeral, and my last look upon her face. I remember not crying. I still hadn’t.

I remember the day it dawned upon me that I had been in my job for a full year. It was an exciting thought, and there was this pathetic bloom of pride. Somehow, I hadn’t managed to get myself fired. Somehow, that meant a lot to me.

I remember little of everything else. There was a farewell I couldn’t make, a promise I couldn’t keep. Watching as the world played out like a theatre. It’s a story about me, but I’m just the audience. And I had fallen asleep on the fast-forward button.

The lights are on now, and the people are moving about discarding popcorn boxes.

***

There is something that I don’t need to try and remember, however. That’s because it’s happening right now.

And it’s a dream. There’s no other way to put it. I’ve tried pinching myself a few hundred times, and at one point put my foot out on a passing trolley at the supermarket, but I’m still here. Still in this dream. This surreality. This believing that it’s all real, however unreal. This wonderful feeling.

This feeling in the stars, in the clouds. There is no air, but only Life that you breathe.

And I’m still here, in spite of everything. I’m Still Here.

And I like it here.

A lot.

***

Resolutions? Just one.

The good thing about this resolution is that, if I kept at it, and I will, it opens up to a hundred more resolutions to fulfil. So I’ve got my sleeves rolled, and knuckles cracked. I’ve even put on my running shoes.

It starts next year.

***

Here’s the bit where I wish everyone a Happy New Year.

And I wish that you find Happiness. That’s just about it. Happiness, I figure, is direly underrated. You don’t pay the bills with Happiness, but Happiness pays you Love, and Laughter, and Joy, and that thing that keeps the road ahead lit even when it’s dark.

It would really then be a Happy New Year, right? Right?

Right? Guys? Guys??

First, a picture that I may use for bragging rights:

But it doesn’t belong to me, not alone at least. It belongs mostly to the greatest writing partner that I could wish for, and she gave me the plots and the words and that mental image in the form of an army of zombies waving banners that say “Just a little more!” and “Stay Lurching!” and “Brainz Up Ahead!”. She and the Zomb-army carried us past the finish line, and all I did was make sure I hit the nightly word count by continuously typing Ape, Ape, Ape, Ape, Ape (and, for the rest of the night, Bananas x 1000).

Suddenly, it was back to those nights where the parchment would open and I’d fall into it, and the words would just come (Apes and Bananas). And I’d be somewhere else, and nothing else would’ve mattered. Not even the coffee-requesting parent. Not even the mosquitoes. Not even sleep, at least until it got overly demanding. Only that this time, there was someone else with me, and she pitched while I batted.

Suddenly I was plotting, padding, making characters speak in my head, tying up loose ends and throwing things randomly on the wall with the hope that it sticks. And then, in the end, making sure that I’d come home and write it.

50,000 words weren’t even enough. But here’s the second promise; finishing the novel. Complete with the edits, changes, omissions, ironing, waxing, wrestling-with-the-characters-ing, and footnotes.

The road is long, and I’m having a great time walking down it.

So here I raise, this imaginary glass of sparkling champagne, to my writing partner, her Zomb-army, and the words.

Time to fire the Large Plotron Collider!

****

Right, there was also that bit where I went to Japan for a few days, and it’s my third self-promise to blog about it (with pictures. From a perfectly fine camera duly wasted upon me). But at least until I finish the coverage on it.

There is, of course, self-promise One and Two. There’s also a Four, but knowing myself, self-promises tend to vaporise. So maybe three for now. I’ll work in the extras later.

And yes, this bit of the post is to remind me to do it. Do ignore, and go let that spider chase your mouse pointer.

Oíche Mhaith

Carni

Right now, there’s an inflatable castle in my head, and I’m in it and bouncing off the halls and turrets. This, I figure, was placed there by the alcohol. It was only half a pint, drunk with friends and laughter, but to my credit it’s already double the amount I would’ve dared to drink. So yeah; I’m still an alcohol wuss, and right now I’m bouncy.

(At any rate, a bouncing castle wouldn’t bode well with that NaNoWriMo novel we’re trying to finish, but I wanted to write something. At least until the bouncy castle deflates).

November was the craziest month.

There was the fact that I tried, and had to, close the magazine a week early. And there was NaNoWriMo. And the Japan trip came along and threw everything into disorder. I’ve technically worked for three weeks without a single day off, if you count Japan being work, which it is in parts.

But I've enjoyed NaNoWriMo. Japan was an eye opener, and the job was the same adrenaline rush that only midnights and deadlines could give. So it was all crazy, but crazy good. Crazy tiring.

November was like a carnival. It had lights, and noises, and music. It had rides that thrilled; roller-coaster carts and Ferris wheels and haunted houses, and it had shows and acts that told of secrets and shadows and the darkest pits of desire. And like all carnivals, you know the dark, seedy going-ons it has in its corners, and yet you’re attracted to the lights, thrilled by the thrills, enticed by the secrets in the tents...

You get swept into the ride, and you’ll hate it, but pervasively, unabashedly, finding every moment enjoyable.

All I found myself doing was falling. Into the spinning lights. While they played and danced and made me hate and like.

Right now I’m walking out of the carnival, cotton candy in one hand, beer bottle in the other. And there’s a ravine ahead.

And I know I’m just gonna fall.