I decided to start our relationship on a positive note. I was mentally prepared to like you and do wonderful things with you. Start writing again. Be in the present more often. Be fair to me. Get things moving in the right direction. Give myself a chance to love again. To live again. To feel alive.
Clearly, it had slipped my mind that this is supposed to be two-sided. Clearly, 2015, my dear, you were not ready for this. And so you did what I did in my last relationship - you flailed your legs and flapped your arms and shook your head from side to side and refused to accept it or let it happen.
You could have given me a sign, you know. Some inkling of what was to come, so I could be better prepared. It's been hardly three months and already I'm regretting living to see you. Day after day is an excruciating exercise in functioning like an absolutely normal human being, trying to stay whole even as pieces of me are claimed - demanded - by all that's around me and inside my head. I don't know how I'm keeping at this, but I am. I don't know how long I'm going to keep this up, though. And when breaking point comes, I don't want it to be at the cost of losing people, principles and schools of thought dear to me, that hold a high place in my life.
So, I beg you, 2015, my precious, to consider this - you and I are stuck with each other for 284 more days. For better or for worse. Why not make that time we have together, better? Stop being angry that I made all those wonderful plans with you. Maybe I should have given you an inkling of what I had in store for you, would have saved this tantrum. Sorry, did I say tantrum? I didn't mean that. Now, how about we kiss and make up and promise each other that if we can't make things better, at least we won't make them worse?
Hanging on to the last straw,
Me
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