Why the fuck do we even celebrate New Years eve anyway? It always feels stupid to do so, especially when you set expectations of yourself that you will probably not even live up to in a new year full of many new regrets and hardships. Like, what’s the fucking point anymore? Why do we even trick ourselves into thinking that maybe the next year “will be ours” and that everything will be fine when we all know that everything is going to get worse and that time will be going faster.

As I type all of this out at 3 AM after I “celebrated” with the closest beings that I can call friends, I realized that there’s not much of a good reason to even celebrate all of this bullshit, a realization which came with this feeling of emptiness hitting me all of the sudden after everybody had left my house, making me contemplate what I’m going to do next.

I dunno, I guess I feel this way due to my fuck up of anticipating this day for the past week where I repeatedly lived the same day throughout the entirety of it (like Groundhog Day), until this very moment, where we drank beer & soda and we had fun playing video games. I’m not even sure what I even feel about this, maybe it’s the fear of uncertainly that’s getting me again, maybe it’s the fact that I actually fear everything that’s going to come this next year (as I’m going to finish high school and move out, go to college or get a job) but I don’t even think that I’m ready for anything. I’m not ready to pass my baccalaureate (in order to finish 12th grade), I’m not ready financially to deal with college, I’m not even sure I have any job prospects for the near future apart from trying to get hired at New Blood Interactive with my passing interest of 3D animation, software & music now-how (which I guess is an unrealistic standard of mine, cuz until I live to see the day where those dorks will even hire I’ll probably be flipping burgers or working the cash register at Lidl just to get by). Hell, I’ll go as far as to say that I’m not even ready mentally to conceive what my life is going to be like in the next 3 years, as I already wish to have oral sex with a shotgun’s barrel, in order to paint my walls (or any walls, for that matter) in my blood and brains so that I could create a painting that’s more beautiful than anything that I’ll ever make by hand.

But for all THAT to happen, I’ll  give myself 6 years to make any significant change of my way of living or character and to finish that literary project that I’ve been dreading to write (because It's a nonsensical cringy string of dark events relating to some goofy goobers that get harrassed by some dumb eastern european witches).

Until then, have a happy new year, you beautiful bastards (yes, I know how you look like, I live in y’all’s walls :) )