It's a new year, and I thought that at 12:01 AM on January 1st, this meant I was done with all the traditions for a while. Done with opening St. Nicolaus Day presents (Dec 6th). Done with the Christmas Eve presents and dinner. Done with Christmas, and with our traditional Boxing Day tea party and presents. And with New Year's Eve, where we did not get presents but we did get those little explodey firecrackers you throw on the sidewalk and then step on all the unexploded ones the new morning and scare the bejeebers out of your dog, which is almost as good.
But noooo, apparently there was one more tradition left over and it was horrible. My family, who appear to be very sane people if you don't look too closely, thinks that to start a year off right, you should go hiking.
Have you heard that what you do on the first day of a new year is apparently how you will spend the rest of the year? That is a great argument for sleeping the day away and watching a Phineas and Ferb marathon. You'll spend the rest of the year well-rested and in a good mood!
Instead, my family wants you to spend the rest of the year slipping on dead and decomposing organic matter and getting rained on while trying to figure out if these marked trees indicate you're on a real path or if you are lost and surrounded by the remains of a beaver picnic. Also, I am pretty sure that's a really deep metaphor for life. One in which you did not get enough sleep or watch Disney cartoons, obviously.
So, here's to a new year, full of fun, blog posts that I actually remember to write, and sleep.
And at least five colors of tiger-striped socks.
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