Dear, This Year: It’s Not Me, It’s You.

To hell with you, this year. I didn’t even like you anyway. Never did. The whole silly string beginning, out in the cold and the dark, the crap getting stuck in my hair. And where was he when it was time to kiss? He might have/should have been there. I’m sure he was. See, that’s the thing, it wasn’t memorable for me, and it was a bucketload of disappointment for my loved ones. Which could very well be me. Who can tell the difference? That’s what I’m talking about. The whole damn blurry year of one-handed standouts, and the rest is a whirl of nothing. My intention was not to talk shit about 2012 as I plunder toward the last 12 minutes of its stupid life. But I can’t help it. It’s the Jaeger talking. My friend told me once that she gets mean when she drinks Jaeger. I thought she got more friendly and grabby. But it doesn’t matter now.

Everyone in my small household is asleep because they don’t give a flying fig about the year turning a year older. They’d rather dream on soft pillows. So who’s up to face it head on, with only the sound of the ticking of the clock and the clicking keyboard, small glass to the side? That’s right, the poet. This is a night for poets–not lovers making new promises, or businessmen looking forward to another prosperous year–if that’s what they do–no, it’s a night only fit for poets. We are the brave. We are the ones who notice the small details of things, inconsequential or not, and take them to heart. Even a whole year of things. When we’re alone as the clock winds down to midnight, we feel it the most. We know exactly who’s with us, and who’s not. We raise our glasses the highest and drink the fastest. We don’t know where in the hell the next year will take us, but we’ll ride it bareback, galloping into its horizon because something beautiful may be waiting for us there.

The big turning of the clock hands came and went. A few firecrackers whistled their goodbyes on my quiet street. Dick Clark is gone, gone, gone, which I think is sad, and I don’t care what you say. Somewhere a big glittery ball dropped. I’m sure young couples in their early 20’s timed their daily screw to hit right at the big, climactic finish, because we’ve all done that at least once. And now, nada. Silence. Not even crickets. An empty glass, to mark an empty year. And here is my New Year’s resolution: I’m not making any goddammed new year’s resolutions. Que sera, sera. A poet takes what comes and turns it into something to drink about. That’s what I’ll always say.

So adios, inconsequential year. When you have something nice to say, some new secrets, interesting love affairs, and surprising bursts of passion and inspiration for me and my friends, you know where to find us. We’re the suckers staying up at all hours waiting to clutch those very moments in our grasp. Tonight is no different than any other night in that regard.

And guess what, friends? Tomorrow we get another chance to find what we seek. It doesn’t matter what dumb year it is. Poets love tomorrows more than anything. Well, we also love “nows” when they are filled with aformentioned things…. The Jaeger Talking is getting rambly. Not mean, though. No, no. Not ever that. Handsy, yes. Sloppy, maybe. But I don’t have to walk far.

My pillow is calling me….

-Julie

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5 Comments

Filed under Drinking, Poetry, The Writer's Life, Writing

5 responses to “Dear, This Year: It’s Not Me, It’s You.

  1. Michelle

    PLEASE, keep noticing and writing about the small things! You say it so beautifully.

    Like

  2. Hey Julie–Happy New Year!
    You remind me how the older I get the more I appreciate the book title from back in the day:
    NOSTALGIA AIN’T WHAT IT USED TO BE
    Keep up the struggle against Time and Space, verses verses verses,
    Iven

    Like

  3. Jan Cirillo

    Love this Julie. You’ve said what most people are thinking and YOU
    say it best! However, it is a New year so let’s think only positive thoughts that this year WILL be memorable for you and all of your talented Poet friends you surround yourself with. Remember, “Tomorrow we get another chance to find what we seek.”
    So this year, the Jaeger just may go down smooth and someone other than your pillow may be calling!
    May only good energy come your way. How talented you already are!

    Like

    • Jan,
      Sorry for my late response which doesn’t reflect how I was immediately touched by your comment. It started my New Year off with smiles and happiness, all the way from Florida! ๐Ÿ™‚ Thank YOU so much for going out of your way to comment on my little rambling. It’s people like you that turn the light on to my little “ramblings” and fill me with inspiration to write more! Writing connects me to wonderful peeps like you, so I think I’ll keep doing it. xoxoxo

      Like

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