As I write this sentence, 2016 arrives in about 10 hours.
I’ll either be curled under my covers sleeping or maybe watching a late-night movie.
I once dreaded spending New Year’s Eve alone; but, at 40 and uninterested in crowds and drunkenness (in part because I rarely drink these days), I’m fine with the solitude.
In years past I attended First Night parties, gawked at ice sculptures, applauded the Times Square ball dropping, watched fireworks, drank champagne, played board games, and kissed girls under mistletoe.
The first day of 2016 arrives on a Friday. I’ll wake up early, go to the gym, shower and eat breakfast, and march forward.