Shawn reached down to the outlet and pulled the plug on our Christmas tree. The room immediately fell dark; a goodbye of sorts to a holiday and a New Year past.
I wrapped my arms around Shawn’s waist and rested my head on his chest. His heart beating always bringing comfort to my lost soul.
Me: It’s finally over.
Shawn: So is this the part where you start talking about sappy New Year shit and cry?
Me: No. I was just going to say that 2 in the morning on New Year’s Day feels a lot like any other day in any other year.
Shawn: Pretty much. Well except for that time when you went hypomanic and you bought stuff online that you don’t even remember buying. Oh and when you had your gallbladder sucked out of your body and you looked like skeletor. Oh and that time when you thought that the city workers were out to get you. That was kind of hilarious. Oh and when you were put in the hospital and got punched in the face. Yea, today is not like those days.
Me: Well today was a lot like 2 days ago.
Shawn: You had explosive diarrhea and slept 12 hours in the day. Actually, you’ve done that for the last 2 weeks.
Me: Damn it. All I’m trying to say here is that there really is no significance to a new year. Oh wait, new beginnings blah blah. It’s just a date. It doesn’t mean that you can leave that extra 40 pounds you packed on in 2012 behind.
Shawn: True. And crazy is definitely attached to your back like a cancerous mole.
Me: You’re a mole.
Shawn: Well we will just take it one day at a time like in 20…whatever years that sucked.
Me: All of them?
Shawn: I was going to say that but I was afraid you’d give me a crotch shot.
Me: I’m not expecting much of this year.
Shawn: Well that’s Debbie Downer-ish. Any resolutions?
Me: You know that I don’t make resolutions.
Shawn: I’ve made one for you.
Shawn: I want you to stay out of the hospital this year.
Me: Well I want you to get a physical.
Shawn: She will put her fingers up my spider and roll my balls around in her hand.
Me: At least Dr. P has small lady fingers.
Shawn: You would know. I want you to keep all of your organs.
Me: I want you to make sure that your organ aims the pee in the toilet.
Shawn: I want you to clean your hair out of the shower.
Me: You’re going bald.
Shawn: So are you.
Me: The medication is making my hair fall out asshole.
Shawn: And what’s your excuse for not making me lasagna anymore?
Me: I do make good lasagna.
Shawn: I think I’m pretty drunk right now.
Me: You are. You’re not wearing any pants and we are staring out our front window.
Shawn: Well happy New Year babe. Let’s at least hope we can get through this year with some fucking pants on.
Me: And this is why I love you.