At Peace
New Year's Eve. My, my. Traditionally we make lists, lists of things done, lists of things we intend. It is best, given my track record, to skip a list of intentions. I have things I've written down with some vague idea I might actually get around to them - weight loss, the laundry - but they're all, you know, unlikely. And things done? I've dodged a number of bullets this year. It is good to dodge bullets, but I think it best not to mention them lest the gods take umbrage. So we'll dodge a list of bullets dodged and say the hell with it. What's left?
It is late afternoon, having left work early. We had sun today, but they're forecasting rain for tonight and tomorrow. We're running at twice our normal rain fall. This is both good and bad for the usual reasons. Rain, however, means I'll be barricaded in the apartment for the rest of the evening, listening to music, listening to the Times Square count down on television, wondering, just wondering, if anyone has planned any surprises for the crowd. What a thought. The news program is saying that New York City police will be carrying special, borrowed from the feds, radiation monitors capable of detecting (I assume) Uranium. Uranium.
For health purposes I have a shot of malt whiskey here at my hand as I write. The concept of Uranium can be upsetting to the stomach.
So, I guess, midnight arrives. A Happy New Year to all of us, may we awake refreshed. Shit. May we awake in one piece. At peace.
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