It’s been raining for two days straight and now that rain has changed to snow. It really is pretty, and it’s been a long time since we’ve seen snow in Minnesota. Watching the flakes pile up on the fence makes me feel all the better for my decision to stay home this New Year’s Eve. It also makes me feel apprehensive, worrying already about the family members who will be partaking in the annual bowling alley event and then driving home on snow-slicked roads.
That’s right, I’m staying home, alone. Unless you want to come to my house, you are most welcome. You can even stay the night, I have an extra bed and a couch.
Last night I was feeling a little sad-sacky about my decision to forgo any parties. I thought I was a lonely-loser with no plans. But then I reminded myself that I could have plans should I choose them. But I am choosing to stay home, and didn’t have the foresight to plan a party. So that’s that.
In all my thirty-four years, I’ve had two, exactly two, really good New Year’s Eves. One a few years back when I hung out with the guy I was dating drinking, playing strip Trivial Pursuit, and having sex. The second, was when I was like twenty-three and stayed out drinking until six in the morning.
So this year, I am ringing it in on my terms. I am making myself a nice dinner, drinking gin and tonics, listening to Paul Westerberg (in honor of today, his birthday), and maybe doing an underpants dance at midnight. And even if I don’t talk to anyone tonight, I’ll be alright.