I'm going to assume that such a common conception existed as this:

The years are a series of mountains and valleys. Every New Year's Eve is a peak in the range. It's narrow, the size of a single day. The previous year just then ending is a valley below and behind that can be surveyed and reflected upon. This is a day of reflection and Twilight Zone marathons where one can see back to the peak of this day the year before. One can see the hopeful younger reflection of oneself that so closely echoes the present self standing quite hopeful enough in its own right. The valley of the future, such as it is, stretches ahead under cloak of darkness. As the year changes over, it becomes time to begin the descent and thus begin the year, a dance with the darkness that by its very nature is not discernible for what it really may be. There's plenty of reason to be hopeful even if you don't know the steps.

This is the dead time of the year. The previous twelve months are weary of carrying the banner of a year for their own length of time and yearn for that number to be passed into the ever-turning pages of history. Much as the day darkens into night, unable to hold the mighty weight of sunshine or bear the responsibility of appearing in countless daily planners worldwide, so does the year lapse into the milky-surreal holiday season that we all will be soon shaken from.

During the night, often as the day is shifting its responsibility to its slightly younger sibling, who will dwell in darkness both at the beginning and end of its twenty-four-hour life, we dream. Dreams, some say, are the mind's necessary device of processing the events of the day. It seems to me that everyone stays up late on New Year's Eve. This day, we consider and process when still awake. In general, anyway, it's a change of pace. If there ever were a day for it, this is it. The day will arise and come of age in brilliant sunrise just as the year will. This time, they will do it together.

As for myself, the only thing I can say is that it was a year of ups and downs. Everything is really full of ups and downs, so I don't really know exactly what I mean in saying that. Life is never constant, and I know that better than ever now.

This dead week had barely been able to cling to life enough to produce the half-hearted sunrises. I haven't gotten anything accomplished during school vacation, save finishing up Bloody Mary and reading this weird sex book that I think I read just to give Jennifer a run for her money on weird sex books. Mostly I just wanted to get this year out of my system. Detox for 2004.

I'd like my new beginning, please.

-- subtitled "A few melodramatic parting words for 2004."