Just finished a twenty-minute standoff with Shuggie. It might have been twenty-five. I never looked at the time when the barking commenced. The dogs went out after dinner and, shortly thereafter, Bee returned but Shuggie did not. This could mean one of three things: she was pooping, she was eating Bee’s poop, or she was waiting at the sliding door in the basement.

I cannot express vehemently enough how stubborn this dog is. She’s supposed to be an Aquarius which is unsurprising because Aquarians march to the beat of their own drum, value their freedom, and dislike limitations. They also have a bit of a rebellious spirit. That’s also my brother, Matt, but we’re not talking about him right now.

So while I was drying Bee off, the barking began. Absolutely fucking not. I am NOT going downstairs to let her in. She can come up here to the main door like Bee did. I opened the slider and called her. Eleven times. Finally, I decided to go take my shower and she could stay out there (under cover, at least) until she gives up. I’m not giving up this time. By the time I’d dried myself off, I heard the thunder of her paws as she made her way across the deck.

It’s a new year and, while I haven’t made resolutions, I was committed to forward thinking and personal progress. Whatever the fuck that looks like. Already 2026 is looking like a shitshow I did not buy tickets for and the seven-day free trial left me melancholy and listless. I swear on all things holy that I came in with absolutely no expectations.

Every year I imagine us getting dressed up and going out – mostly so I can put on my Betsey Johnson silvery glitter boots and a gorgeous dress (or jumpsuit, I’m not picky) – dancing and staring into each other’s eyes and laughing with friends. I’ve had these boots for two years. I think. I don’t actually remember how long I’ve had them because really, the last five years of my life have been anything but normal and they’ve all virtually melted together.

{Except for last year. Not last year. I can’t say 2025 was a bad year. I think it was a decent year, I guess. Until people started exiting. But I don’t want to talk about that right now.}

Truth, nobody wants to go out on New Year’s Eve anymore. We joke about how none of us is awake that late anymore. The last three years we have hosted at home. I have NOT dressed up. One year a bunch of us stood around the kitchen island and sang karaoke, loudly and off-key, but we had fun (there are pictures). Last year the party was in the basement with the 75-inch TV and the pool table and pinball. One friend who came to stay disappeared around 9:30. The rest of the house creaked and groaned with human noise well into January 1^st.

This year I had planned nothing. The disappearing friend was coming to stay again, but I didn’t feel like it was necessary to do anything other than put on my pj’s and chill. Then another friend asked what we were doing and next thing we know we’re hosting a small get-together with easy-to-eat foods and wine.

This New Year’s Eve I had a little wine and put on my Santa’s helper jumpsuit (sleeveless red with white cuffs and decolletage) WITH the aforementioned silvery boots (which are quite comfortable, unless you’re standing in them for hours and then the toes go numb. Why do the toes go numb in almost every pair of shoes I wear these days?)

The crowd wanted to watch the series finale of Stranger Things, so we did. I fell asleep halfway through it – a tough thing to do with the volume pushing 60 but I had a little help from an espresso martini – and no one paid any mind to the friend getting shitfaced in the basement playing Donkey Kong.

How was your New Years Eve? My New Years Eve was great – until 1:30 a.m.

Disappearing friend was sitting at the kitchen island with Todd and I had just gone to bed. Disappearing friend stood up and fell into my Pottery Barn farmhouse table (so described to emphasize this was no card table), hitting only the side of his head and knocking himself clean out. Todd’s commanding voice from the kitchen reached my ears in bed – can you call 911?

Friend flat on his back on the kitchen floor, left eye beginning to swell and bleeding from his ear. Unresponsive, but breathing like he was …. Asleep. Two paramedics arrived and an ambulance shortly after and – Todd says, two fire trucks. I didn’t see the firetrucks per se, but there were a lot of flashing lights in our driveway and on the street out front. In our quiet and very dark little neighborhood. By this time, 2 a.m.

I will spare the rest of the ugly details – suffice it to say Todd and I arrived at the ER at 4:30-ish (it took a bit of time to confirm which ER) and sat with friend who was alternately dozing and trying to get out of bed. Not sure where he thought he was going. I don’t think he knew where he was going. Labs and CTs confirmed he was going to be alright, after a short admission for observation, with only a swollen-shut black eye and I-don’t-know-how-many stitches to repair his ear. I don’t know how he didn’t have a concussion, but he didn’t.

We were up all night. It’s very difficult to sleep with daylight brighter than flood lights but we both managed about two hours or so. Friend returned to us around 5-ish, just in time for pork and sauerkraut.

Two days later I realized I had forgotten to open the doors at midnight – to release 2025 and welcome 2026 in. I’m not superstitious, much, but I’m wondering if it’s too late to start over. Could we have a do-over?

After a four-day weekend – whereby I spent most of my time recovering from New Year’s Eve – I returned to work, where it appeared that more than a handful of people are also not buying into this whole 2026 thing. So. Many. Unhappy. People.

Complaining. Like, it’s Monday, for fucks sake. After a weekend, a holiday, and the middle of viral season. Everybody and their cousins are sick with flu. The phones are off the hook – that’s my sister-office where I help sometimes – I took their calls because there was only one person on Monday morning do it ALL. A woman on the phone said to me, “the front desk?! I’ve been on hold for a nurse for 20 minutes!” (Spoiler: they will never get a nurse because front desk takes all the calls there, for now.) (Also spoiler: I did not “lose connection” and make it 40 minutes for her even though I’d have liked to.)

So by now I have had my free trial of 2026 while navigating the *wonderful world of healthcare* and people who clearly didn’t open their doors at midnight either – and I’m ready to start over. I haven’t cried yet this year. I’m not sure why. Perhaps it was the chaos of these early days that left me in lockdown mode.

Reset. I went for my first massage in nearly six years – my last one was just weeks before Covid arrived to show us all just how fucked our lives could be. It had not just a physical effect on me, but a psychological one as well. I’m not sure how to put it into words. I’m still enjoying the “silence.”