I would like to write something positive about what a great year 2018 has been and how I have so many resolutions for 2019. But I had cancer twice last year so obviously it was horrendous, not great, and I’d quite like to see exactly how that is going to fuck me up psychologically before I commit to performing great acts in 2019. Plus, there’s the chemo thing to wait and see for.
Home alone, feeling reflective or otherwise emotionally riled for no real reason, and in possession of a lot of Jack Daniels. Four bottles, in fact. Obviously I’m only going to have like two glasses; it’s just interesting that I have so much in the house at the moment. Good to know it’s there, I guess – though I will have to pick a different alcohol when I eventually go to the supermarket to do my “will I still get ID’d now that I’m thirty?” test.
I hope the roads are straight from here,
I hope the next year brings no fear.
I hope injustice will be wiped out,
so we’ll have nothing to be outraged about.
I hope for no blemishes on our landscape,
no more capsizing and everything shipshape.
I hope everything’s going to be right as rain,
and there’ll be only sunshine – no more pain.
I hope things go better than we could perceive –
but sometimes hope is just make-believe.
Happy new year. I’m a very happy and optimistic person, really… promise! Poetry just digs out the darker parts. I like to think of this simply as a realistic start to 2015.