In the last moments of 2009, I was sitting on my bed (the build up to ball-drop in Times Square on TV in the background, out of habit, and Just Because) talking to Keith, as I have so many nights in 2009.

“…and Crocodile,” Keith said when midnight hit.

Last year was Year of The Terrapin. This year, we’ve settled on the Crocodile. Please don’t ask, the explanation makes plenty of sense, but I don’t need any one else to give me that Look, the one that says “….ooookay” and makes me feel awkward.

I mentioned that the world might end tomorrow (because the date is a palindrome and that apparently means something doom-y) Of course I don’t take that seriously, but the world ending is not something I ever worry about. Because if the world ended, then it would be over! And I’d be dead! So it’s not something to worry about.

And we discussed some of our petty, judgmental thoughts. And I watched more West Wing. And ate junk food around 12:45. And thought, in the vaguest of terms about what I want from this year, and I guess, from this decade.

Because if you asked me what I wanted from the year, or decade when 1999 turned into 2000, I have no clue. I could go retrieve my journals from my parents attic, but the one for those days most likely just details the phone conversation I had with The Ex, late in the morning of the first day of 2000.