It seems the Mayans were wrong. The world will keep traveling around the sun, or the sun around the world if you're a Fundamentalist. But this most recent apocalypse averted got me to ruminating, as is my want, about New Year's Eve and all the weight that is arbitrarily attached to this one night's passage of time. It took me back to last New Year's Eve and a question asked me, "What's your resolution?" Maybe it was one too many Ketel One Koolers, I replied, "to not die." But on further rumination that's not true.
Can you tell from my answer that I possess a cheery optimism? As is exhibited by the response from said person above after hearing the answer, "Boy, aren't you a ray of sunshine!" I think that was her response, because the DJ was cranking the 89th house mix of "I Want Candy." So, it could have been that or "Why don't you drink a glass of turpentine." Since the sentiment of both statements is pretty much the same, I choose the more positive. See, I'm not that much of a pessimist. But I digress. It seems that my focus along with my 36-waist size was left behind in 2011. Who am I kidding? My waist hasn't been a 36 since NBC boasted "Miami Vice in Stereo".
What was my point? Oh...the answer to the question posed to me. It has to do with my philosophy on life. I don't see the glass as half empty or half full. I see the glass as broken on the floor with shards of tiny glass embedded in my carpet that I'll never be able to get out no matter how hard I try. And months later, I will be walking barefoot on my carpet, and a shard will stick in my foot. It being dirty, I will get an infection. This will start a long process of amputation to preserve my "quality of life" only for me to end up in a bed jealous of Richard Dreyfuss's character's lot in "Whose Life Is It Anyway?" Here's the Kevorkian cocktail nightcap. The woman I put this to on that New Year's Eve still wanted me to buy her a drink? Who says love is dead? Maybe there is still hope? Nah.
Let me be clear. My kicking off has nothing to do with my curmudgeon's attitude toward Baby New Year. There's also no "to die to sleep" mishigas. Will I be, or won't I be? That doesn't interest me. Though for some reason, if it's the former I'm reminded of the Woody Allen line on reincarnation: Great, I'll have to sit through the Ice Capades again. No, what gets my GERD going about me avoiding 365 days of potential tragedy is that others I care about may not, and THAT'S the killer. Yes, I must pun. And the older I get and avoid the Big Sleep the more the people I have cared about have not. "Have cared" the present perfect tense really is the most heartless.
No, no, don't say that. It's not about survivor guilt. I don't believe in it. I believe in survivor misery, loss, alienation...fill in the blank. I've lost my mother, father and a wife, but that last one was intentional. Now, just imagine if I had kicked first. No loss for Ed. Hell, some people might have even said some nice things about me. And me, dead Ed, I figure either I won't know, or I'll know everything. I prefer Socrates' rationalization of shot gunning the hemlock as opposed to Hamlet whining about should he or shouldn't he off himself. Pick a side. Who are you the Mitt Romney of Denmark?
So let it be known before all. I am changing my New Year's Resolution of 2011. In 2013, I won't mind kicking off. Of course, perhaps by saying that I may be hoping for the old reverse jinx. Who knows? But that's a conversation for my therapist and me. And for those of you who were wondering about the fair lady on New Year's Eve 2011 and me. Jade Escorts between gigs. I'd have done the Gentleman's thing, but my AMEX card was maxed out.
Happy 2013 ('!" or "?", your choice) to all!
