Ten years ago, I was celebrating The Millennium with my boyfriend-at-the-time, high on drugs at a warehouse rave in St. Louis, via his hometown of Springfield Missouri. I was eighteen years-old, freshly on my own, totally in love and out of my mind. The following four New Year Eve's went somewhat similarly... tripping down boulevards in broken paper crowns, blowing cheap paper horns and boyfriends soon to be ex. It was New Years eve and nothing mattered - not the past or the future - (especially not the immediate future) as evidenced by New Years days spent sick in bed, still drunk, buzzing from the substances inhaled in the night before.
New Years' days were painful reminders of what "coming down" felt like, of waking up alone, surrounded by people. The hope for a happy New Year replaced with hunger. For breakfast. For love. Direction. Something else.
It's been six years since I've been out on New Years Eve. Hal, too. Our first New Year's Eve together, I was four-months pregnant with Archer so we stayed in. The years that followed we had newborn babies or lack of funds so we did our own thing. Hosted game nights with a handful of friends. Watched home-movies. Hung out with my parents.
This year we decided to go out. Ring in a new decade, holding hands, lost in the city we love - our home. Our first time out on New Years as a couple...More, here.GGC
