Here I lay, on the first day of 2012 in bed, afraid to move in case the nausea returns. In case anyone is getting the wrong idea, I did not get drunk last night. I had my boys for New Years, and Gerry spent pretty much all day in a state of unflinching defiance until I put him to bed in what was his actual bedtime, which I never stick to when he's over.
As a treat, I told Nick he could stay up until midnight and ring in the New Year. I promised him secure in the knowledge that he'd never make it to midnight and I could go to bed at my leisure. Ha! My Nick is a chip off the old block and if he gets to stay up until midnight, then by God, he's going to stay up until midnight, even if it kills him.
Actually, I was the one who almost didn't make it. I kept nodding off on the couch and when Nick sensed that I was falling asleep, he'd jump up and down on me shouting "WAKE UP! WAKE UP!" until I chugged a can of Coke, which had been sitting in the fridge since the barbecue I had for my English cousins back in September. That on a stomach of pizza and potato chips.
Oh yeah, I'm hardcore.
So midnight comes and goes, and we watch the festivities on TV and Nick as always has about a million questions: are people celebrating? are people celebrating here? how many people are celebrating? do people celebrate in apartments? and so on and so forth until I change the subject and ask if he wants to call his mom and wish her a happy new year, and he says perhaps the most brilliant thing I've ever heard him say:
"No... New Years is stupid! They should have it earlier so I can go to bed. Goodnight!"
And that was it. He hugged me and went to bed. I couldn't be more in agreement son.
This morning Gerry was the same as he was the day before. I started making my chicken soup in the slow cooker, not feeling all that particularly well. I put it down to the smorgasbord of crap I ate last night and carried on, until it was pretty obvious that I could barely stay on my feet. The room started spinning and I spent a bit of time in the bathroom preemptively to avoid a dizzy mad dash to the bathroom. I put Gerry to bed and texted the ex at about 11 to pick up the boys immediately. She came about 4 hours later, but at least she came. Nick left a little dejected that we didn't do anything today, and threw a bit of a tantrum on the way out. I crawled to bed and I've been here ever since. The dizziness seems to be subsiding, and my stomach is growling, although I don't feel particularly hungry. A banner 2012 start, to be certain, and this is actually one of the better New Years I've spent. Since I started going out for New Years Eve when I was 14, I've probably had 3 good ones, 3 passable ones and a whole lot of shitty ones. Between 1993 and 2001, every single year some ridiculously drunk girl would blubber on my shoulder because her boyfriend was such an asshole. Back then, I was too much of a doormat to tell them that hey, things are tough all over, but things aren't gonna change until you stop telling me and start telling him how you feel. The exception was in 1994 when I spent my New Years Eve waiting at a gas station to score weed for everyone at the party and have everyone leave (including the girl I was chatting up) after got back. But 1996 made up for that when the girl who cornered me and sobbed out her life story ended up stabbing me in the arm. Ah memories.
Yes Nick, New Year's is stupid. I was 20 years older than you by the time I figured that out.
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