That was an entire year of our lives - gone. In a haze of repetitive nights out, crass fumblings with various members of the opposite (or indeed, same) sex, Groundhog Days at work, desperately convincing ourselves that being a PR consultant/media coordinator/internal communications knobber is in any way important. OK, there I'm speaking entirely for myself. I mean, if you're a doctor or a surgeon or a vet or a hairdresser or a barista in a coffee shop where I want a good coffee then, obviously, your work is vital.
365 days of the same old shit. Or was it 366 this year? It did feel long it has to be said. Long and very very short at the same time. Does it really matter if one gets up and goes to work in the morning? Or goes to the pub on a Friday? Or goes to see the latest crappy film at the cinema? Does ANY of it really matter? Of course not. The world keeps spinning no matter how skinny or fat you are, no matter what you create or don't create, no matter who you regret or don't regret. All in the end is harvest, people.
So, with that in mind, and with the fact that I seem to have hit the zenith of nihilistic despair during the last month of 2012, I am suggesting to myself that for 2013, since nothing matters anyway, I should put all my effort into having a jolly good time.
I will shrug off my almost puritanical nouveau moral code (not even sure where it sprang from if I'm honest. One minute it was all booze, class As and not giving a shit and then it was all sobriety and not sleeping with people just because they're there). I am going to drink, imbibe, do the dirty with whomsoever I choose, cease lamenting fools and their ways, go running again, stop being afraid of everything, take my new friend up on her offer of acupuncture, go back to the Buddhist monks, write a lot, draw a lot and generally live 2013 like it's my last year on earth.
True nihilism brings its own rewards, I'm discovering. Because if nothing really matters then there is nothing to worry about.
Bring it on 2013. Happy new year to all my friends, enemies and indifferent readers who only stumbled onto this blog via a tortuous route involving Jodie Marsh. You know who are. As Prince says, party like it's 1999. Only make it a good 1999, not like the actual one which was a real bloody let down.