This year that’s coming is special, in many ways. It scares me, and it fascinates me. I’ll be eighteen in March. In September I begin at University. In August I marry Mark. Everything within the scope of one single year.
Little moments of massive importance, dotted out across the months.
Sometimes I’m wondering when it is all going to crash and fail, but I don’t have those thoughts nearly as often as I used to have. Maybe I’m growing up? That would be a relief to dad, at least. Then he can’t ring me and tell me to do just that regularly.
A few hours of a whole year that is going to define decades of my life hence. Is it any wonder I’m in awe of the next year, in the original sense of the word, where there is an element of fear at the root? Like you’re awestruck by a terrific lightning storm, but at the same time fear the powers that are unleashed?
There is a part of me that wants none of it. That wants the status quo. That wants nothing to change. That wants everything to be exactly as they are now, because as things are now they’re good. Not just good, they’re great. I don’t say that often enough when I launch into my moody missive of angst, but I feel it every time I look up and see him arguing with a pixel football player on the telly, telling that image how to play soccer.
Today is the last day of the old year, and tomorrow is the first day of that new awesome and frightening year.
I can’t wait.
Happy New Year!
A special happy new year to the following people: Richard, who is the consummate Englishman where I fail to be one; Tony whose often blunt, brash and low-down advice here in the comment field has made me see around many a corner; PinkAgendist (otherwise known as Pink) who made me sit and try and evaluate the sofa at Cambridge, wondering what he would think about it. Ricky, who’s on an adventure that I’m envious of. Fairyjerbear, Gary, Simon, Meeka (who writes a fantastic blog herself), and so many of you that read and comment here.