{Image: The Next Web}
What a week.
I think I have finally emerged from the tornado named Christmas that put my sanity and my house into a fragile state of disrepair.
For those of you who read my last post, you either 1) died of boredom, or 2) shared similar war stories about your hunt for that last-minute Christmas toy. Members of group #2, thanks for making me feel less ridiculous. So you can sleep peacefully, please know that I did indeed resolve the 11th hour Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle Shellraiser Vehicle Debacle of 2012. And by “resolve,” I humbly admit that I sucked it up and paid for the Super Expedited on Crack Shipping option. Crisis averted.
And so Christmas was saved.
Everyone was merry. At least in between sibling fights over the new toys.
And, best of all, the Elf on the Shelf left our home for another 11 months. I will not miss that little pain in the ass one bit. It’s so nice not to wake up in a cold sweat wondering if we remembered to move that fucker to an entertaining new location.
So now it’s the last day of the year, which typically brings a nostalgia junkie like me to her knees with sentimentality. After all, 2012 was the year my kids turned 3 and 5. The year we finally finished the longest basement renovation in American history, without litigation. The year I turned 40 and decided to make a drawn-out, inter-continental party out of it.
I guess we all get wistful on New Year’s Eve.
But I’d be lying if I didn’t own up to what I’m really thinking about as we usher in 2013.
The truth is this: I don’t do well with odd numbered years. I sort of fear them. Not in any apocalyptic or lock-myself-in-the-house-all-year sense, but they just make me uneasy. You know, like a Lady Antebellum song that gets overplayed.
And you know what really messes with my clearly under-developed mind? Years that are prime numbers. It’s like making me watch an entire commercial for Paranormal Activity without letting me cover my eyes.
At first, I assumed that 2013 was prime — because math is obviously not my strong suit, and I don’t spend much of my copious free time on long division. And I was really getting angsty about how to deal with that for 12 months. Well, guess what? Great news. 2013 is divisible by 3! It’s all going to be OK-ish. It’s just your standard odd number.
{This is the part where I was going to supply you with a formally documented name for a fear of prime numbers to make me appear less neurotic, as surely I can’t be alone. But, um, Google said there is no such thing. So I’m on my own here, driving the ship to Crazytown. I’d be lying if I said this was my maiden voyage.}
But enough about my mental state.
It has been a hell of a year. As I play the 2012 highlight reel in my mind, I know there are some snapshots I’ll always hold close and replay in my memory for years to come, and there are others I’m anxious to see fade into the past.
And the truth is that 2013 holds a lot in store for me, so I’m happy to see it coming. Odd digits and all.
So, Happy New Year to you and yours. I wish you full champagne glasses at midnight, a very manageable January 1st hangover and — most of all — a great year ahead.
Happy New Year to you, Kim!!