It's a brand new year, roll over again, roll over again and again and roll and roll, roll until you're giddy and consumed by euphoria, roll over once more and puke. Such is a year afterall. After the confetti has gummed the sidewalks and broken bottles gallop like shiny legless sawhorses in the street, but I will be asleep well before that. I will have fallen into my cool sheets before the new year has sung her hollow dirge, and I will just fine with that when I wake to last night's detritus.

It's a new year and me and the lump of coal that thuds in my chest, juddering the teeniest sharp and woeful sparks are going to make the motherfucking best of it, it's an odd year for an odd girl and an even birthday just to triangulate. There is no reason not be hopeful and there is no reason not to seize that moment there by the scruff of it's neck and shake the ever lovin' shit out of it. There is no cause for misery and there is no reckoning with all the things you ever left unsaid, just the bright undiscovered happiness of all of tomorrow's unknowns. (also puerto vallarta in two weeks and a stack of books and tennis and margaritas and whales in the bay and flip flops in january and warm sand spooling between my toes and sparklers on the malecon and a week without an alarm.)