As a rule, I detest New Year. There is always drama. Someone always vomits. I always cry about something. It marks the beginning of the month I wish I could sleep through most.
Celebrating with friends old and new in Cambridge this year was wonderful. Bollinger, glitter, sushi, karaoke and gateau. No drama, no vomit, no crying. No dread of the days to come.
Traditionally, January is a bad time for me, usually heralding one of those phases that used to drive my ex to frustrated silence and me to hysterical paranoia. How sickeningly precious; how self-indulgent.
I feel differently about January this year. The sense of direction that I expected from the changes of the past twelve months is tentative at best; my decisions slow. But, it is there.
Out with the old.
Happy New Year, with hope.