Requiem for the Dying World

I closed the book on 2006 in the same manner I end every day - since I did not matter to the world around me, I thought I'd boycott the latest in its series of empty holidays. Fuck it, I thought, I'd rather drink myself to sleep than have spoonfuls of your "Happy New Year!" shit shoved in my face and be expected to smile as I swallow each one. Good riddance to another shitty year on the calendar!

I entered 2007 as I have entered each day as of late: fully-clothed under a blanket having to pee in the wee hours of the morning. Failing to return to my state of slumber, I stumbled down to the living room and threw myself into a daze before a variety of late-night televangelism. Why sleep when you can rejoice over the coming Year of our Lord! My housemates were certainly rejoicing, or, for those whom society rejected, were trying. As one of them wished me a happy New Year, I, too, wished we could finally see a happy one.

After finally being able to amass some sleep, I managed to drag myself outside to bask in the spring-like January weather - these are fine days to be making your living outdoors! For some, the party was still going; for others, it showed no signs of slowing. After many hours of many days mulling over the state of the world beyond my immediate field of vision, there they were, staring me square in the eye, the cracks in my own foundation. My own world is sliding into chaos, and every one of us is laughing all the way down.

Today, this first day of the new Year of our Lord, number Two Thousand Seven, is not a happy one, nor should it be, for the world is dying. We can spend year after year celebrating the night away to forget, but the world will continue to die. Over the course of my twenty-six-and-three-quarter years among the living human beings, nary a single happy New Year has been seen by our species as a whole, yet each and every year, I have been led to believe this next year will be joyous. Judging by the few people on this planet who cared for my company last night, no matter how loud I scream, the jet-set status quo wishes to spend yet another year as such.

New Year. Same old shit. Let the grieving continue.