In a few hours, as I write this, it will be 2015.
As a matter of fact, it is already 2015 in the extreme eastern parts of the Eastern Hemisphere, Cape Dezhnev in Russia, for instance, or New Zealand. But here in India we still have a little shy of six hours to go.
Yes, I know that this division into “years” is somewhat arbitrary, and that the planet itself neither knows nor cares that we’re measuring its revolution around the star Sol by numbered sets of 365 days each. But for the moment, at least, we are in a phase of human history in which such numbering seems to be necessary.
So. All over the world today, people will be partying, enjoying themselves, dancing, drinking themselves into stupendous hangovers, and getting killed in ridiculous accidents, and the best of luck to all of them. I won’t be doing any of those things, but then I never do.
Nor, however, will I be writing a New Years’ Special, something I’ve done as a tradition ever since I began writing semi-regularly on the Internet way back in 2005, and which I usually try and make humorous to whatever extent I can manage. This time, I’ve quite deliberately refrained from it.
For one thing, the only thing I can find to celebrate is that 2014 is over. It was a year which for me began with heartbreak, and ended with my being under psychiatric treatment for acute depression, treatment, by the way, which has been far from effective. It was a year in the course of which I went into downward spirals during which, for the first time since I was a teenager, I seriously planned to kill myself. It was a year in which I lost more than one good friend to death, and during which I totally lost my ability to be satisfied with my own company.
Under no circumstances can this be considered a good year.
Oh, it wasn’t all bad. I met some very old friends, right at the end of the year, and had a few good days – when not lying awake crying at night, that is. I began painting again, which I’ve always found calming. And, professionally speaking, though this year was far from the best I’ve had, it was also by no means the worst.
But that’s all that can be said about it.
Then, I can make no positive predictions, even in a light vein, about 2015. If the coming year ends without any more major extinctions, if there isn’t any nuclear war, if the Hindunazis don’t succeed in completely taking over the country with their fascist agenda, that’s about the best that can be expected. I can foresee more hypocritical lies and aggression by proxy from the Evil Empire and its NATO handmaidens; I can see Russia and Venezuela, at the least, fending off Obama-instigated colour revolutions; I can see the US finally abandoning all pretence and invading Syria. I can safely predict more wars over the planet, all bought and paid for by Washington. I can see increasing upheavals from climate change, rising food insecurity, and suppression of dissent. Surviving the coming year may well be the best we can hope for.
Sometimes, I’ll tell you truly, I wish they’d get their nuclear war on and over with. It’s time the human race exited the stage and let the so-called lower animals (or what’s left of them) begin over.
So, sorry for the downers, but I won’t wish you a Happy New Year 2015.
Instead, I’ll say, Happy Old Year, 2014.
In a year’s time, take it from me, this will look good to you.