Midnight on New Years Eve is always traumatic for me. Everyone is a little too drunk. And even though I can tell myself
"It's a stupid tradition" 'till I turn blue…I still wish I had someone to kiss when the confetti starts falling.
The New Year rushes in with wide-open excitement and the purity of a newborn. It would be nice to embrace someone as the
flood of potential washes over us. It's like after 12 months of pent-up tension, the year, itself, orgasms. And I take in
the rush all by myself. It feels spectacularly lonely…like a flush of post-masturbation shame.
I know there are
hundreds of other nights in the year. But that night just feels so symbolic.
January 28, nineteen99