So here we are, once again on the threshold of a new year. How many times in the next 24 hours will you say or think: Where did the time go? So I won’t bother to repeat it here. (But where did it go?)
Do you still consider making New Year’s resolutions? If you don’t write them down, do you even think about them? I have long ago given up making promises to myself that I will never keep. If I want to feel bad about myself for being a weakling, I already have sufficient items from prior years to draw upon.
It seems like only yesterday that I was wishing everyone a Happy New Year at the dawning of 2013. Or is that just me, being a year older, and once again falling victim to the cognitive illusion that time speeds up as we age? Or, is it all the fun I’m having that’s making time fly?
Well, whether time does or doesn’t (speed up, that is), it’s certainly a sign of age that I’m even considering this as a topic for discussion. Young people have a very different sense of time. I’m sure my grandchildren aren’t sitting around, pondering this phenomenon. In fact, they’re probably complaining about how it feels like forever until they’re old enough to have their own I-phones.
In any event, whether it took twelve months (real time) or twelve days (perceived time) to get here, a new year is indeed imminent.
No one has ever accused me of being a fanatical housekeeper. On the Good Housekeeping scale of good housekeeping, with zero being first cousin to a Collyer brother, and 10 being genetically linked to Mommy Dearest, I would fall somewhere around a 6-34.
The truth is, I’m comfortable with a certain amount of clutter. And for better or worse, I’ve learned to live with dog hair. But there are a few occasions during the course of the year when I am completely overtaken by a kind of domestic lunacy.
It has nothing to do with the full moon, and certainly no longer attributable to PMS; I haven’t been able to use that excuse in about twenty years. I’m not sure you’ll find the syndrome written up in the medical journals, though perhaps it should be. Since it is without an official psychiatric label, I will refer to it as “relocation madness.”
Well, we’ve made it to the end of another year. And in spite of predictions to the contrary, you might have noticed that the earth as we know it was not destroyed on December 21, 2012. That is, unless you’re still hiding in your underground shelter and are not planning to emerge until your beef jerky and bottled water supply are depleted.
I had an inkling that the Doomsday interpretation of the Mayan calendar might be incorrect when I noticed with some relief that the gardeners in my neighborhood, most of whom hail from south of the border, did not throw down their hedge cutters and walk off the job. Instead, they went about their business as if it was an ordinary day. Honestly, in the face of an apocalypse, would an untidy lawn be of any consequence?