That’s what we Guyanese call New Year’s Eve. I think our term is far more endearing.
I spend 2005’s Old Year’s Night in pretty much the same way I spent 2004’s: in my Ottawa apartment, clacking away on my laptop. I’ve cleaned every square centimetre of this apartment, did laundry, went for a swim, and am now cooking daal while pondering the tax forms that have gone unperused for far too long. I’m not one for New Year’s festivities, especially in one of the coldest cities in the world. I have far too many memories of waiting for a bus at 3:AM January 1st, freezing my ass off and catching a nasty cold. No more, my friends, no more.
This day last year I was brooding over the Asian tsunami and frantically writing op-ed on top of op-ed. I was also brooding over the completion of, quite literally, the worst year of my life, punctuated by deaths, heartbreak and disappointment. The end of 2005, however, sees me a lot more than a year older, and a little less sanguine about the world. This is in no small part to recent news that my beloved father must soon undergo heart surgery. I think I’d be more optimistic about a lot of things if I could just manage to get last year’s taxes done!
But there are also many good things to ponder, many things about 2005 for which I am genuinely thankful. But tradition dictates that I list those in tomorrow’s post, not today’s. Instead, today we are allowed to wallow and drink heavily. Hmmm…. taxes or booze? The age-old question….