When the clock strikes midnight (or, in our case, when the glowing white numerals silently flip), I will scrape 2016 off my shoe like something nasty I stepped in.
Because I am done.
I am done with family members dying, I am done with friends dying, I am done with beloved celebrities dying.
I am finished with truculent Trumps on the television and emboldened bigots spewing hatred on social media.
I am over hurricanes that topple ancient trees, and floods that send creatures skittering into our walls for shelter.
I am beyond over zippers that strain and jowls that jiggle and photographs that capture a funhouse mirror version of me.
That is not to say these things will be done with me in 2017. But, like the polite person who pretends to ignore the malodorous lingering of 2016 on the sole of my shoe, I plan to just carry on as though there is no stench. Even if it means I have to hold my nose a bit in order to do so.
Happy new year – finally!