We Over Romanticize and Over Glorify New Years

Me in my natural habitat..
Me in my natural habitat.

Hello world. Welcome to Read Sip Snuggle’s first blog post!

As I’m in the middle of transferring my blog contents from the free hosting platform I was using to my very own website (!!!), I’m deciding which posts are worth the move. Which posts do I feel are valuable and belong here.

In the middle of old incomplete reading goals and book reviews lies a journal entry that on January 3rd 2018 I decided to immortalize on the interweb. I suppose you could define it as a personal essay, if you will.

I remember being so, so proud of myself and the writing and emotion that went into that journal entry/post, and reading it back now, it’s returning to me all the feelings and memories that have been shoved to the back corners of my mind over the last two and a half years.

So regardless of it it “belongs” here or should be left in the past, it’s getting the move.

Please enjoy reading, and please stick around, there’s much more to come.

We Over Romanticize and Over Glorify New Years

That’s fact. I have decided. I feel there needs to be more acknowledgement that it isn’t all glamorous parties and perfect levels of drunkenness, that sometimes the buzz keeps dying and sometimes we end up throwing up, or crying. It isn’t always that the year ends with a long, passionate kiss. You might end up sitting alone watching fireworks broadcast on TV, or you might be sitting next to your boyfriend wondering why he only gave you a quick peck. It might be the first year of not being single and you had this nice fantasy that you would deeply, lovingly kiss to bring in the new year, but half a minute in you had to prompt him to kiss you, and that was all you got. A peck.

Maybe he didn’t listen to you all night. Maybe he annoyed the shit out of you and seemed to find it funny. Maybe you feel guilty for reminiscing about the previous year and feeling as though you enjoyed that night more. Maybe you couldn’t help noticing that last year you spent half the night trying not to cry because he was all you wanted, your first love, your wish for the new year, and all he wished was that his girlfriend didn’t have to work, that he could’ve kissed her at midnight, that she wanted to spend time with us when she finished. This year however… This year you were upset because even though you love him, and he you, and he is yours… he spends so much time acting like he doesn’t care. As though he’s only worried about his own wants and needs.

I can’t say my night was all bad, there was some really nice moments. I just feel I spent too much of the night being irritated at him, or irritated at myself for not being able to ignore the flawed moments.

Try though. Try to remember the good stuff above all else. How you sat around the table tasting each other’s drinks, sharing food and laughing. The joy of just playing with a soccer ball in the back yard. Showing people what you’ve learned to play on ukulele. Stargazing and rolling around on the trampoline with him, the pure joy of joking around with him, holding him, hysterically laughing, all with him. How four of us went for a walk buzzed and ended up dancing weirdly down a barely lit road obnoxiously singing Take On Me. The moment when he spotted a “For Sale” sign out the front of a house, pointed it out then said that that’s all we need, an average house, nothing fancy. The feeling you got when in that moment he once again gave you reason to believe he wants a future with you as much as you do with him. Skipping across the backyard with a sparkler as he tried to take long exposure photos. Good memories. Happy memories. What you need to focus on, what you need to remember.

At the end of the day no one but myself is to be blamed for my disappointment in the night. I allowed myself to be lead to believe in the clichés and the movie scenarios, and try as I may I can’t always make them reality. The last year should have taught me that.

But last year I also fell for my best friend and he decided to love me back and take the chance of being in a relationship with me. That cliché should be more than enough for my stupid, sappy heart.

My night wasn’t perfect. My relationship isn’t perfect. Life. Isn’t. Perfect. I love it all anyway though. It’s kind of miserably cool.

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