New Year’s Eve morning came. Justin went to work. I went to work. He went to work at Starbucks. I went to work at Starbucks, too, just not behind the counter – in a chair in the cozy nook. There I worked on this and that, projects various. Hours go on by, and – they keep ticking. We’re home later, him much earlier then me and awake from a nap, but sick. A bad head cold. As mutually agreed on, I cooked us dinner. Salmon. Shrimp. Some fixings. We ate. We watched Law & Order, maybe an episode or two of Fraiser. We were both tired, and sleep came for the last time that year.
No fireworks. No parties. No watching the ball drop. We ended the last night of 2006 pretty much like we’ve ended almost every other night in 2006, since we started dating in February and I moved in, in April. And we were just dandy with that. Point being, New Year’s Eve didn’t really feel like New Year’s Eve. But for some strange reason, New Year’s Day felt very much like New Year’s Day. The day felt fresh. Maybe it’s because I actually got a full night’s sleep the night before. Maybe it’s because I had a glorious day off work to enjoy. Perhaps its because when I got in my car that morning, the first song to come on was U2’s “New Year’s Day.”
The year 2006 held some great things that I will always remember – falling in love with Justin, going to Israel, bumming around Portland – but there was still a kind of uncompleteness in the air with this last year, and it bothers me to no end that I could not place a finger on it. 2006 didn’t feel special. 2007 kind of does. Perhaps its because I’m closer to some personal goals that I’ve been working on for the last couple years, but again, I can’t place a finger on it entirely.
All I know is that everything feels slightly different. I walk into the Starbucks in south central Phoenix during my lunch hour and sit down with my laptop, and I listen to John Lennon’s “Imagine,” and it puts me in a mood of relaxation and fond memories that I don’t own. And everytime the song changes, followed, almost immediately, by Janis Joplin’s “Me & Bobby McGee,” the world seems different from the last year of memories and emotions.
Don’t ask me why this is.
Perhaps we will understand at some point. But maybe understanding it all really isn’t the point, either.
Posted by sharoute 
