I hate new years. I hate resolutions. I hate the assumption that just because the calendar changes from one month and one year to the next, the past is wiped clean and anything is possible — well, for about two and a half weeks. And then it’s back to tubs of ice cream and pornography.
While I, like many people, was happy to see the coffin close on 2016, I also entered 2017 feeling fast doses of reality flowing in my veins.