Squeezed Into the Moment

by Steve Mitchell

You might remember, awhile back, I resolved to work out every single day for the rest of the year.  It was my Old Year’s resolution.

Well.

About that.

See, I’m tired today and I had to work today and I have to work tomorrow and I did actually exercise yesterday, sooo…

I’ll get it next time.

You bet.

Also, I thought I had resolved to exercise every day.  I was going to be all clever and exercise my first amendment rights.  Get it?  Exercise?

But, no, I checked and I specifically said “work out” and not exercise.

I wasn’t thinking ahead.

Alas.

Anyhow.

If I were to exercise (my first amendment rights,) I’d say something like this:

It’s just as well I have to work tomorrow.  No one I’m close to feels particularly celebratory.  No one in my social circles is eager for New Years Eve.

There’s a pall hanging over the upcoming year.

There’s a dark, greasy cloud, all criminal and graceless, rolling across the horizon.

I won’t say its name but it rhymes with Monald Grump.

And it’s not just Monald; he’s almost the least of it.  It’s his minions and his deplorables.  It’s all the willful ignorance.  It’s all the hateful petulance.  It’s all the gleeful screw you.

It’s the racism and the misogyny and the xenophobia.

It’s the smash-and-grab corruption.

It sort of kills the festivity.

So.  I’m okay staying in and going to bed early.  Tomorrow afternoon Lucie and I are invited to meet up with a large group of friends.  We won’t be celebrating the new year.  We’ll be celebrating love and camaraderie, family and friendship.

Yeah.

That’s better.

Happy new year.

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