December 31, 2019
“New Year” is the most arbitrary of annual celebrations and I take no part in it. It has always struck me as vacuous and silly, and I certainly need no extra excuse to get drunk. But of course I am stuck with the calendar, as regulated by it as anyone else, each day a chalk line on the cell wall, the weeks and months oblique strikings-out of those daily bars. This year has, like last year, dragged me along with an undercurrent of sadness, worry and regret. But there were bright, glittering sunflashes on the waves. One in particular.