Today

I've been asked why I hate January 3rd so much, and it's such a long and complicated answer, there's never been much of a point in answering it. Not that the people who've asked really cared. The question is always the result of that fleeting curiosity that we tend to have. Wholly interested in a topic for a split-second, and couldn't care less tomorrow. I'm not even sure exactly why I hate January 3rd, anyway.

The last time I properly celebrated the day, I was still in junior high school. That was in the early 1990s, and though I've gone through the motions since, there have never been any true festivities or sense of eager observance. Now, the day is just another day, albeit with the unwanted reminders of anniversary from family and a few close friends. Few, being the key word. There aren't many people I inform of the supposed significance of the day anymore. I just can't see the point.

I guess you're thinking that I'm a tad nihilistic on this subject, and while that's not entirely true, it's close enough. Much like the New Year, this day is less a celebration than a time to ask myself exactly what I've accomplished so far. Given the virtual emptiness of the answer, I can only offer thanks for the close proximity of the two dates. I can get my pessimism out of the way all in one week, instead of spreading it out among the entire year.

A professor posed a question to a class I was in a few years ago. While there was a certain, sardonic nuance to his inquiry, it was no less relevant for it. He wanted to know how we knew who we were. Short answer is that we don't. We were told who we were by the people we think are our family. But as we have no recollection of the day we were born, we have no way to prove anything. For those that think faith is a rather outdated mode of motivation, well, you live with it every day. How do we know we're even celebrating the correct day? Again, we don't. All we have is a piece of paper and the word of our parents. And maybe a few others that claim they were there. Still, I know quite a few liars, and I've seen quite a few of those pieces of paper with errors on them, some intentional.

So what am I supposed to be celebrating? Or who, for that matter? Hell, outside of my immediate family and two others, I don't know anybody else's "special day" by memory. If I don't have it written down, I need to be reminded, just like most of you do. How can anyone call something special when it's not important enough to remember without the aid of irritating MySpace candles or an automatic calendar on a cell phone, computer, or blackberry?

Maybe I am a tad nihilistic. I am, admittedly, not the happiest of people during the holiday season. Pretty much from mid-November through mid-January. Then again, I can barely remember the last times I truly smiled about something, regardless of the time of year. Well, that's not entirely true... I've been smiling about something recently, though I sense that smile is on the verge of fading. Before that, my last true smile was in 2002. Prior to that, I have no idea.

At any rate, I'm beginning to ramble. Just know that I hate January 3rd. In fact, I'm seconds away from jumping in my beat-up truck and driving off into the night. I know I can't escape the day, but I'll be able to avoid the extraneous customs associated with it.

Have a nice day.