I spent the first day of 2005 on the Oregon coast with Shan, eating pizza at a restaurant always staffed by attractive boys, idly admiring the shelves in one of my favorite bookstores, letting the icy January wind whip around us as we looked out over the steely Pacific. We wandered down the winding road south with no destination. We saw one of the most beautiful sunsets I can remember. And then we went home and ate a lot of fudge and cheese and spent a ridiculous amount of time watching the Twilight Zone marathon. It may have been the best New Year's Day ever.
A lot's happened since then: I went to San Jose and San Francisco, New York, Vancouver, Victoria and the San Juan Islands. I started drinking coffee. I took a chance on a job that brought me somewhere I wanted desperately to be. For the first time, I left a place without regret. I was hit on by a 19-year-old sailor, to whom I then inadvertently gave my number. I traveled the length and breadth of the state of Washington. I spent a lot of money on shoes and books and music. I fell in love with a city. An anonymous benefactor left flowers on my car, and I shouted "thank you!" in the street because it seemed like the thing to do. The O.C. finally became too much even for me and I started watching Firefly instead. For reasons I can't possibly explain, I showed mercy toward the biggest goddamn spider I've ever seen. I grew up a little, in the best possible way, although maybe not the easiest.
I don't know exactly where I'll be or what I'll be doing on the first day of 2006. It doesn't matter. Possibility is in the air. It's going to be a good year; I can feel it.
December's chill comes late; the days get darker and we wait
Tuesday, December 20
December has slipped right through my fingers; I've been working and baking and shopping and cleaning and other things that end in -ing. I finally saw
Serenity, and last week over pizza I got all giddy when
Lauren told me that "ain't" IS a word and has a correct grammatical usage. At present I am on vacation, and right now I should be packing; tomorrow I will brave the exceedingly vicious weather to forge my way home. Should I arrive intact, I will not have to cook for myself or take responsibility for anything other than wrapping presents, watching movies and bathing for several whole days. This will be pleasant. What is not pleasant is package tracking, which was invented by sadists. Right now, I know my packages have left Illinois and Colorado, respectively. But there has been an appalling dearth of information since I was apprised of that fact. For all I know, my presents for four different people, one of whom is me, could be in a ditch somewhere. And someone at UPS is cackling about the torture he or she is inflicting upon me. My procrastination, of course, has nothing to do with this situation.
Have the loveliest of Christmases, all.
