They woke me at just after twelve, disorientated and still in sleep I couldn’t, at first, work out what they were. I banged and burst and hissed well beyond 12.30 am and I struggled to regain my sleep. Oh, well, I thought, I wish them a happy party.
New Year never feels joyous for me. And certainly not this year. It’s all this bleak, though necessary, paring-back of everything (typified by the pictures he sent me of me drawing in the café. I sit alone, huddled in my layers of coats, and no one comes near – all the previous, precious camaraderie and noise gone). I am wearied by it. And the fear it instils drags me down. I miss exuberance. Or perhaps I never felt it really. I don’t know. Is this an age thing?
Oh forgive me. I wish you all well. And though I don’t feel like sending my usual salvo of texts of new year wishes, I do think of you all and send you joy.
