She drove back and forth on side streets that were not large enough to accommodate the unnecessary monstrosity that was her SUV, and that were not cheery enough to take her out of the inescapable slump that was right now. Prince blasted on the radio, and the shrieks of the guitar perfectly accentuated the hum of her subconscious. She was lost. She had been here so many times before, in fact not a day had passed since the last time she was her, yet she could not find her way out. The suburban houses, the stops signs and the Christmas lights all looked the same now, and even if she had not had all those drinks she still would have felt trapped. Or rather -- caught. For on this morning, she was running away.

That morning when she woke up she found herself on one of four couches in a crowded living room. She looked around at all the bodies spread out like corpses across the furniture. She remembered why she was here, and why she was not where she wanted to be. She felt alone but careless, and secure but nauseous. Very nauseous. Her heart was broken and apparently it was contagious because her stomach was broken too. She wanted to go home. Well not really. She just wanted to be anywhere but where she was right now feeling the way she was. Yes. Because she knew were she wanted to be. But home was the only option.

When she got there, the place was still a bustle and hustle from the night before. Actually the place was asleep, but like the place she just ran away from, there were lifeless bodies all over these rooms too. She imagined they were all dreaming of New Year’s resolutions that would be made and would not be kept. She stood in the hallway, turning away consciously to avoid looking at herself in the mirror. And she began to tell her story to anyone who would listen. And she could tell that they could see the hurt she was wearing all over her, in the last remnants of mascara from the night before, in the way her back was cramped from the hard, lonely couch. One person listened, followed her into her room. She told her everything. The words flowed out of her involuntarily, and when they were done, then everything else started to do the same thing.

Ten minutes later she found herself bowing down in front of the porcelain goddess, giving her all the praise. She tried to keep some of the umm... “praise” to herself, but the greedy goddess wanted it all. She couldn’t keep anything in her body, even water seemed to flow directly back out. She had not felt this sick in a long time. She continued this worship service until about three in the afternoon, when she finally remarked, “I’m empty. I am completely empty.” She couldn’t even cry about it because the alcohol had dried up all her tears.

She thought she was dying. Or rather, she knew she wasn’t, but wished that she was. She was depleted, she felt like an invalid, and everything was passing by really slowly. She thought about how she felt that morning when she left, how powerful she felt-- despite the fact she was fleeing. For she thought had made a bold decision to just leave that shit, to not let it catch up with her. She was leaving them all there to clean it up. Which is why she wanted to die. Yea. So they could clean it all up.

But she did not die. And it was New Year’s Day. And for some reason she had managed to live another year. So she went and began to nurse herself back to health and clean up her own shit. And even though she didn’t have time to start all over again, she knew she would make some progress.