Well, it was nice knowing you all.January 03, 2012
Have you seen the rain? I wouldn't even call it rain. I'd call it little 3D shapes of prophetic doom. Of course, if you're not reading this right now, which you can't be, because I'm still writing it, like literally, typing away right now, then it's probably not raining. Well, it might be. Probably not as much as it is right now. Unless it is. Unless there are no 3D shapes of prophetic doom as you're reading, but just a massive thing of wetness. The 3D shapes of prophetic doom have all clubbed together are like "fuck this shit. BAM BAM BAM BAM" and are just bamming on the earth.
But it might not be raining.
The rain doesn't bother me. We all knew it was going to happen. The arks will be ready by the end of the year and Morgan Freeman will call my name in the lottery to live on them until the water recedes. S'fine. *sits on windowsill, staring out with a mellow expression. slowly drags eyes away and onto diary. begins "this is the day i die..."*
New Years always fascinates me. Essentially, it's just one day going to another, and then another, and another, doing that time thing that happens. But for some reason it always feels different on January 1st.
Probably because of the hangover. It really does feel like a whole new year, and that December 31st was ages ago. 365 days of anything are ahead, and that emptiness is quite nice. It's not the "Oh new year, new me. I'm going to completely change who I am. Start a new." crap I'm talking about, but just the amount of time and space. Maybe you will change, but change is always inevitable. Something will change between now and tomorrow. You can change something about you, about anything, whenever. You don't need a new year to do that. But maybe all that blank time and space is motivation. In January, it's always a bit awkward saying December was 'last year'. You can't quite let go. 2011 is all wrapped up, but the corners aren't quite fastened yet and you could still rip it open if you wanted to. Next month will be different. Last year will be 2011 and you might have more of an idea of 2012. You've gotten used to it; there's a baseline of January, but still so much time to do stuff.
I quite like how no one has thought of a year past 2012. We're going to die this year. Yep. End of the world. Another end of the world. Ooh, those Mayans, predicting stuff. WE SHALL BELIEVE THEM.
WHO THE HELL WERE THE MAYANS.
They wrote a calendar?
I can write a calendar.
I predict the end of the world to be in 8349u5987485.
There's even a 'u' in that year. That's how far ahead the end of the world is.
The world can't end soon anyway. I have things to do. I have to go to Canada on my own next month, I have to pass exams, I have to move to Cardiff, I have to turn 19, I have to write my book (deja vu), and I have to eat a lot of food. I have to try new things, and set more goals, and achieve things, and be happy, and meet Matt Smith, and make him fall in love with me, and move in an...oh...backspace until 'be happy'...no wait...'meet Matt Smith'...that can stay...
I am absolutely convinced that this year is going to be the best year yet, and I say that with no hint of soppy soggy cheese. Don't be one of those who says "Shut up it's just another year, you're not going to change, the same shit is going to happen, don't be so stupid", but at the same time, don't be one of those who says "This is a brand new start for me. A year for me to change and sort my life out." Don't be one of those. No, I mean don't be one of those. Never be one of those. Think of the time you had, the time you have, and the time you want to do and be things. That's all you need. The time. And you have a hell of a lot of it. Want things to happen. Be selfish. Will things. Nothing will happen if you don't.
On 1st January 2013, people will stop, stare, and after a few moments contemplating, will go "Oh so we're carrying on? What, as normal? Sure? That can happen? Am I good to book a meeting for next week? Yeah? Right. As we were then..." and time will carry on. Like it always does. Spreading in front of us like a big blank spready thing. Full of unknown stuff.