The last week of the year, that week between Christmas and New Year, is the oddest week of all. It's a week made of the joys and disappointments of the year just gone, and the impending, onerous potential of the year to come. I hate New Year, I make no secret of this fact. And mostly that's made up of a fear of the pressure that the new year brings, especially as it's artificial. Just another midnight, rolling into another early morning. Also, there is a fear I can track from my deeply paranoid childhood, that this New Year's Day, the world truly will end.
But actually, this year has been pretty decent to me. If it ends, I'll be going out on a high. That makes me happy.
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