Twenty minutes until midnight. Twenty minutes until 2014.
Twenty minutes to a new life.
To the same life.
Twenty minutes to more monotony.
I'm tired of this, tired of waiting. I'm tired of wasting time. Where's the magic, the progress, the milestones? I'm doing nothing. Not even a good nothing, the nothings worth remembering. I'm slipping through the days. All the same, all worth nothing. I have no memory of the last six months, they've all morphed into the same day. Are any days worth remembering? And tonight, a night that defines the next 365, I've got to make it count. It should be better than the rest, different somehow. I can't be damned to another year of prosaic dullness. I've got to make it different, I have to make it count. I want to drink, not to have fun, not to drive the pain away. I want to drink to drink, to say I did, to make the memory worth something by making it disappear. To be drunk for drunkenness' sake.
But I'm not. And I won't be. And this will be my year.
