Auld Lang Syne

26 December 2016 Lorin Clarke

Auld Lang Syne

At some stage in 2017 you are going to hear, but not be able to see, a mosquito. Probably in your bedroom. At best this means less sleep. At worst it means you will be eaten alive while slapping yourself in your own face.

An inanimate object in 2017 is going to make you shout, mutter or think, “Oh come ON!” And there’s nothing you can do about it.

An idiot, in 2017, will try and make you feel like an idiot. This is what idiots do. Which idiot will do this to you? When? For how long? There really is no way of telling. Brace yourself.

There is no way 2017 will not contain Eddie McGuire. Sorry. Deal with it.

Someone will, over the next 12 months, use your name excessively despite having just learned it. For example, “If I can just stop you there, Samantha”, or “I appreciate your concern, Samantha”, or “Can I suggest you pop over to our website, Samantha?” while you attempt through gritted teeth to explain for the basmillionth time that your power has gone out/phone isn’t working/car has exploded/face has melted off.

Chances are that at some point you will accidentally inhale that bus exhaust that smells kind of like banana.

At some stage this year, a human adult will describe something as “impactful”. Deliberately

Thirteen minutes into registering for tickets to something, a website will stop working and you will have to go back to the beginning and re-enter absolutely everything. Yet nobody will go to jail for this.

At some point (see: weekly), Planning You will go to the supermarket with a list full of healthy items like kale, flaxseed and coconut water. Real You will head straight for the confectionary aisle and buy that jumbo packet of Mars Bars. You will go home and ignore the documentary on deforestation that Planning You preselected on Netflix, and instead binge-watch the new episodes of Gilmore Girls that Real You has been looking forward to, while wolfing down those Mars Bars.

At some point in 2017 you will go to a big party. Beforehand, getting ready, you will feel lovely, hopeful, attractive and somewhat nervy. The next day, though, you will be a regretful, moody, probably hungover shell of a human being whose favourite place in the world is face first against the tiles of the shower wall.

Inevitably, you will end up in a furniture shop where everything matches, thinking, “This will be me! I will become minimalist! I will be like that Japanese woman who sells people books about how they don’t need things, or that woman who only owns a passport in a safe in Berlin and travels the world with the money she saves from not buying junk. This is it! I start minimising today. This foldaway desk-slash-table will cure me of my desire to buy 50s salt-and-pepper shakers at garage sales and I will be free of clutter forever, a calm floating cloud in the blue sky of life.” But soon enough, you will be swearing and trying to put together a foldaway desk-slash-table with an allen key that you cannot find but was here literally 30 seconds ago.

There, you see? This is how we should start the year. Honest. Realistic. Away with New Year’s resolutions, top-10 ways to shed post-Christmas pounds and the most exciting films to be released in 2017. No. You are not Future You. You are you. Go and be you for heaven’s sake. You’re actually really good at it.

by Lorin Clarke

This article was first publised in Ed#527 of The Big Issue.

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