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Get Over 2013 Already
By M. Alouette
Despite all the many hours and days and weeks you spent wrapped in it, someone you never saw it. 2013, invisible, suffocated you—and now you want it to come back. Yet it won't. It has passed, vanished, died. In your drunken stupor, you missed its funeral. The pink André, though not much stronger than Boone's Farm, was delicious and your ratty futon was the most comfortable place on the planet in all of history and every other hyperbole. But since you were glued there instead of dusting yourself off and making yourself look somewhat presentable, you missed your last possible glimpse of 2013. So you continue pining.
Perhaps, throughout the year, you gave time no notice. Perhaps you just wanted it to end. You were sick of waiting tables and opening textbooks and falling behind on your rent. Or you didn't want the baby to come. Or if only you were in Turkey again. Why couldn't it be 1992? Or 2007? Who invented calendars anyway?
Just admit that you took her for granted. Loved her and used her. Never really loved her in the first place. All a sad, sad country song. It. Her. Him. Whatever 2013 was. Maybe 2013 didn't have a preferred gender pronoun. “Why she walked like a woman, but talked like a man.” You could've at least broken up with 2013 like an adult instead of the pathetic adolescent you still are, clinging to infantile memories of huffing something with your first love in Pigtown. Cutting class. Getting loopy. Oh, those were good times. Couldn't 2013 have been more like that?
Sober up. Get off the futon. Clean up the champagne spills. 2014 isn't going to tolerate your nonsense.