I suck at ringing in the New Year. Iíve never been much for celebrating it to begin with, most likely because it comes hard on the heels of the Thanksgiving and Christmas insanity; I lived apart from family and the familial makings of rowdy New Year festivities most of my adult life and simply never got in the habit; and, although I spent two decades of New Yearses with Poo-Poo Head, she wasnít big on celebrating it either. (In comparison, my sister has always been good at celebrating it or, I should say, clever about celebrating it. Although she lives in California, since she lived in New York for a quite a few years, she figured that gave her carte blanche to pop the cork at 9:00 p.m. California time/12:00 p.m. New York time. And then all the hoopla was over and she could go to bed. Or keep on making merry. Is that not clever?)
Last year on New Yearís Eve, mostly for reasons of not caring, plus having a brain that was fried on steroids and chemo, I lost track of time and found myself cleaning the litter box at the moment 2013 made its arrival. Surely this year I could do better than scooping clumps of cat pee, yes? Um, nope. Iím not sure what I was thinking when I made this appointment, but on December 31st, I started dietary preparations for a colonoscopy which will be on Jan. 3, my first measureable event of any kind of 2014. Better or worse than scooping cat litter? Discuss.