If you’re into numerology, 2012 is a 5 year (add up all the digits in any order you want, until you arrive at a single digit), but you’ll have to do a little research to see how you’re personal birth year number reacts with the universal year 5.
And you might want to consider how your name’s number reacts with the number 5.
Don’t forget your address number. And while you’re at you, you might as well check on all your relatives, friends, neighbors, etc.
Think about it. There are any number of correlations to be explored, contemplated and categorized — but it’s all way too much work and not nearly interesting enough for me.
And then there are those pesky old Mayans and their quirky calendar that ends Dec. 21, 2012 — less than a year from now. (Uh oh, that’s a 2 date.)
But the end is supposed to come at 11:11 a.m., so that’s a 6.
I’m so confused. Better get a tight grip on to your giant meteor heading straight for Susanville vaporizer and your OMG, the mountains are turning into ocean bottom inflatable unsinkable rubber raft, Batman.
You know, I always greatly appreciate the old Indian stories and the obvious truth in many of them, but if I were a betting man, I’d throw a bunch of money down on this one.
I mean, what have I got to lose? I either get rich, or I’m in a festering heap of catastrophe kill along with everybody else on the planet.
So, how about those resolutions? The best thing about New Year’s resolutions is you get to have one last full flung fling before you throw your most favorite vice under the bus.
Forever. By making a New Year’s resolution, you give yourself permission for, well, anything and everything bad you’ve ever wanted to do.
Just this one more time on New Year’s Eve before your fondest desire becomes a mass of yellow matter custard (to quote John Lennon) under the dualies at the very first stroke of midnight. Yuck!
To tell you the truth, I’ve never had much success keeping New Year’s resolutions because they’re always made in the middle of some weeping stupor that comes over me about 11:59 p.m. when I realize my life can be completely transformed if I just kick a few hundred bad habits.
I mean, I distance myself from resolutions even more than I avoid late night lampshade hats with white dangly balls that always leave those pink little dents in my forehead — they’re so hard to get rid of the next day.
I’ve never been too keen about dancing on the dining room table either, because my first Frugy stomp (or any move from my junior high days when I actually went to dances) such as the Mashed Potato, the Swim, the Monkey, the Dog, the Watusi, and the Jerk, will surely splinter that fragile old hardwood into rather large and expensive toothpicks.
Besides, I’ve noticed when I try to dance on the table in most houses, I punch my pointy little head through the ceiling and that smarts. Oh, but I’m such a body mover!
Seriously, though, I am coming up on a happy anniversary. Jan. 3 marks one year since I quit smoking cigarettes. Well, actually, it will be one year from whenever I went to bed on Jan. 2, but I don’t remember what time that was anymore.
Just like many other smokers, I’ve quit and started and quit and started and quit many times before, but this time I think I may have actually kicked the habit. I’m still not interested in starting again.
Maybe it’s because I decided breathing was more important than smoking. Or maybe it’s because it wasn’t some silly had-to-be resolution nobody ever keeps.Here's wishing us all a Happy New Year!
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