Every year, when the clock strikes 12 on New Year’s Eve — or actually, a few moments before that — I run to the nearest bathroom and dutifully lock myself in like self-exiled royalty.
I detest cheap sentiment and can’t stand the idea of kissing each person in the room in celebration, especially since I’ve already kissed them all hello!
It seems utterly redundant, and it also feels embarrassing and at times hypocritical because I don’t even like some of the people!
Besides, New Year’s brings back awful childhood memories of a time when the stroke of midnight was considered a sad event for certain relatives (they’d bizarrely erupt into tears), not a moment for celebration and confetti.
Like a really old Pavlovian dog in need of therapy, I hear the countdown and start crying over all the bad things that happened last year.
But I hope you’re not like me in the least.
I pray you kiss your loved ones at the stroke of 12, and are overcome with glee and optimism as I’m trapped in the bathroom in a hell of a my own making.
I hope you even have sex!
This article from the Village Voice Archive was posted on December 30, 2011