Early Lang Syne

This year comes to a close. Soon it will be my first blog-iversary. We've laughed we've cried, we've been anonymously spammed. It's been a good year. I've needed this outlet very much.

I picture December as an old tired man, limping wearily along the calendar, taunting the children about the promise of Christmas break, and dragging down the rest of us with his lack of innocence and the cold brittle temperatures of his bones. He goes to sleep earlier and earlier everyday, depriving us of Vitamin D, and sending us into a reflective, depressive wintery state. He's had a full life, twelve months of joy and of sorrow. But Twenty Oh Five is tired and wants to call it quits. We all feel it.

Hang in there everybody, you only get one crack at the rest of December, Twenty Oh Five. And the '06 baby, while virginal and pure, he too, is just another old man in the making. Don't let this '05 old man get crotchity on you.

Or as I would say to Willie! Corchity.