But the trip to Litchfield fell through after I invited the universe to give me a sign if I shouldn't make the trip. The sign happened, so I turned around, headed back to James Island, poured a stiff cocktail of Crown Royal and water, then set about working on my memoir.
I wrote myself out of the funk I was in. By the time my roommate, Dana, came home from work, I was happily sitting on the couch, typing away. But I still didn't feel like being around people.
"Why aren't you OUT?" she demanded. "It's New Year's EVE. Be ready in twenty minutes--I'm driving."
"But I'm content here, with my memoir and my top shelf liquor," I replied.
"What are you, eighty years old? Get dressed."
She finally dragged me out of the house and onto Folly Beach, where our other roommate and neighbor and a couple of friends rang in 2013 with us. I have to admit I ended up having a decent time. It wasn't the best New Year's Eve, but it certainly wasn't the worst.
But I guess this way I did get the best of both worlds.
Happy 2013 to my dear readers! May you all experience an abundance of unadulterated joy this year.