Oh my. It's New Year's again. Time is out somewhere huddled in a corner, cigarette ash at length, feeling sorry for itself. You know the feeling surely. What is it about New Year's that leaves us rushing for our lover, before the Times Square Ball begins to chase down the silvery pole on TV and disco is forever burned into our hearts each year this way (does ABBA receive royalty from this?) and all of a sudden everyone I know is in When Harry Met Sally. God I love that movie. Anyway, this New Year's, I did the impossible. I quit smoking (gross). I always read this thing, this "Quitting Smoking" thing on so many New Years resolution lists, but it seems most don't make it. So I hid under the blankets already and did the harrowing three-day OMFG slumber before New Year's. Why? Because I wanted to be through the worst of it before I went to some parties? Nope.

I figured withdrawal doesn't count, and besides, I always always sleep in and early to bed on New Year's Eve. I don't like it. I never kiss the girl. I don't drink, so there is that -- that added annoyance on the streets really, not a bother, just a reminder of what I might have been like in my early twenties on any night ... no good. Nope. I go to sleep before it turns New Year's. But there is one major reason why: time travel. That's right. It's free time travel, and when you are a shut-in reclusive wash-up like myself, you need dreams baby. Big dreams to keep your sails full of hot air.

Now, off with you if you are reading this ... GO HAVE AN AMAZING NIGHT. I will keep the light on if you need to talk. Happy New Year's from NYC.

Photo: Mary Ellen Matthews