I am really not sure why I distrust New Year’s Eve so much or when, exactly, that came into being but this is probably one of my least favorite days of the year. It makes me feel unsettled. Maybe it has to do with the celebratory nature of the night, but anything is possible. In some years, I have been more than ready to bid them adieu, good riddance, catch you on the flip side. I feel trepidation about a new year, however. This has not been a recent occurrence, either, because I think most pandemic dwellers would understand it if I wanted to softly tread into a new one of these years. I am not sure if it stems from some superstition or a past heartache. Was I hopeful one year just to have it be a not-so-good one? I don’t remember the derivation, just the result. Tonight I plan to be ensconced in my home, watching When Harry Met Sally and the first Sex and the City movie which contains the hands-down best rendition of Auld Lang Syne, maybe drinking some wine, and greeting the new year with one eye closed.