The initial plan was to go straight home, then sleep through the countdown.
Instead, I ended up on the hotel rooftop, lounging on a wicker chair, a glass (my second) of Malbec in my hand, discussing philosophy and global politics--at half an hour to midnight. Another guest who eventually became a friend, despite the fact that we just met the day before. I keep being told that I make really delightful company. The fact that my romantic relationships keep getting messed up is something I find utterly baffling.
I'd clocked out after the shift handover, then slipped quietly upstairs. So quietly that none of the colleagues would have known where I had gone. He referred to himself as M--"So you can pretend you're working for MI-6, Miss Bond". That came shortly after he commented on the somewhat unsettling nature of the topics we touched on. "You, my dear, are a very dangerous person."
His wit seemed to have a permanently-sharp edge. A quality I couldn't help but admire. That wit made me lose track of the minutes. Before we knew it, fireworks filled the sky with bursts of color and booming noise. Conversation was no longer possible, so we stood and watched the display in silence.
Fifteen minutes of silence, taking in the sights, the sounds and the oohs and aahs of two more guests who had joined us minutes earlier.
"Happy new year," he said, offering his hand for me to shake.
"Happy new year, M," I reciprocated.
He reached for the Malbec. We'd emptied the bottle. Delicious to the last drop. It reminded me of night shifts with the best friend--sitcoms, figs, glasses of red, and not a single guest in-house. Definitely not employee-of-the-month material. Those were good times indeed.
My head throbbed. I'd totally forgotten about it. Three days, on-and-off, still no sign of it going away. A brief respite, yes--like the previous hour, but it would flare up again as soon as you thought it was finally coming to an end. A visit to the doctor's office appears to be in order. Let's just hope I could keep this red down long enough to avoid losing it to the sink.
Yes, the sink. Throwing up into porcelain thrones is just not my thing.
Another half hour of talking, then I called it a night. There was an intruder in my bedroom, hiding under the covers. My ears were assaulted by unbelievably shrill meowing. Unbelievable, because he can fit comfortably in my palms. A tiny thing, but loud as fuck. That's Obi-Wan for you. My little Padawan. I should change my name to Qui-Gon Jinn.
On normal days, I would chuck him into his box next to the fridge. This time, I let him purr me to sleep.
Bienvenue, Janvier!
P/S: This post was penned (yes, literally penned) on January 1st. Unfortunately, unlike most of you, I had to work on New Year's Day. Belated as it is, I'm still determined to make this the first ever post for 2015. Now that reminds me of one more thing. I need to submit that application form for my TESOL program.
