New Year

The new year feels like a mistake waiting to happen, a haircut with bangs that are too short, the wrong lipstick, a red that’s too blue, when it should be orange.  And I wonder:  is this the face I want to present to the world/in a new year?

January yawns open, a classroom with dark and heavy black-out drapes.  Seating is assigned, a hard-backed chair with a formica desk top that swings up across my lap, trapping me as the lecturer drones on and on.

If the new year were a kindergarten class, she would comfort, challenge, and delight me like Ms Frizzle on PBS.  She would wear a flowing skirt as full and beautiful as a map of California/the Sierras and the Pacific coast.  She would feed me graham crackers and milk, urge me to take a nap in the afternoon.

I gotta get outta this place/create a year I want to live in.

Come with me.