New Year's Eve, 2007

Let's have a look at some of my earlier December 31 posts:

2006-21-31:

"Happy New Year, everybody. Here's to hoping that 2007 doesn't suck nearly as badly as 2006 did. Somehow, I doubt that could actually happen."

Wow. I must be psychic or something.

2005-12-31:

"Randy Milholland puts it best in his blog entry entitled Dear 2005: 'As you are drawing your last breaths, I would like to say something to you from the depths of my heart. Fucking die already. You were a momentous waste of time.' Truer words were never spoken. I say we put 2005 in the ground face-down and with a big rock on top of the coffin."

2004-12-31:

"2005 holds a great deal of promise."

What was I thinking?

You were a momentous waste of time.

Fucking die already.

Predictions for 2008? More suckage. Tons of it. Great, festering, heaping shitballs of suck. We will all drown in the ceaselessly rising tide of suckitude as it relentlessly churns against us and marks higher and higher lines against the hillside.

I hated everything about 2007 and expect to loathe 2008 just as much.

So, I suppose, my last resonant words of the year are "fuck off and die".

Punchy? Pessimistic? Apropos? Yes. Yes. Yes. Hope — that cruelest of human emotions — is what I have laboriously sought out year after disappointing year on this day. So far, it hasn't held up yet.

Hope can fuck off and die.

If you need me late tonight, I'll be somewhere, very likely bitter and alone, in the still somber darkness of a Pacific Northwestern nighttime sky, drinking until I kill off that last part of my brain that ever felt hope. I'm better off without it.