This obsession with the change of year from 2002 to 2003 is probably the result of 2002 having sucked (can I put too fine a point on it?), although some may argue that most of it was just dull and annoying. The final nail in the coffin of 2002 was that ordeal getting out of San Francisco on New Years Eve.
So, what? I started 2003 with family. Very odd. Three full days there was just about my limit, perfect. There was a hint that getting out of New Jersey would be problematic, foreshadowing a sucky 2003, but my flight arrived in San Francisco on time. There was a hint that problems getting new tires on my car after getting a flat last month might also indicate a sucky year ahead, but that turned out alright, just delayed.
Hmm, maybe that's the theme for 2003 - delay. If I have the patience to make it to 2004, everything will be alright and start coming up roses. A) No, I'm tired (sorry, Madoka, but that is a good enough excuse in my book), 2004 is not even a twinkle on the horizon; B) Everything being alright and coming up roses is just not a goal I have.
I kid you not, this was the result:
What Self-Mutilation Are You?
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What the hell is "cutting" anyway?
January 4, 2003; 11:42 A.M. - Cerritos Avenue, St. Francis Wood, San Francisco. Walking in the rich part of town waiting for new tires on my car and my bike to be repaired.
