It all starts with the television. On January 1st, mere hours after declaring 2020 "a better year with less bullshit and more control over my own life," I attempt to turn on the television with my cell phone. Guess what! It doesn't work. Then, I consider doing the correcting that I brought home from school, get through one set of papers that barely makes a dent in the 500 in my backpack, and decide to play Whist online instead. When Whist turns out to be a disaster because the internet keeps dealing me crappy cards, I decide the holiday season is officially done.
Yes, the season is done already, even though it's not technically the twelfth day of Christmas just yet. That's it. Kaput. I'm over it. Time for the shit to come down.
Aw, damn. Ball down. Ball down, people! BALL DOWN! Sixteen hours after the first ball of 2020 drops (Times Square), the second ball of 2020 drops and breaks on the floor.
However, this is not a tale of tragedy; this is a tale of victory and hope.
The ball that breaks? Not an antique. This is important because several of the glass bulbs on the big tree (safely packed away) are older than I am and are fragile like snowflakes. Also, the ball that breaks does not shatter. This, in and of itself, is amazing considering this flimsy glass ornament hits the metal table, bounces off wooden decorations, rolls from a chair, and careens three feet across the tile floor. Two distinct pieces of glass are missing from a quarter-sized hole in the ball, and the top has cracked enough to lose its hanging attachment. However, the glass-shard ratio isn't even registering "barefoot danger" levels.
So, although 2020 starts with two ball drops (and a cell phone to television miscommunication), things could be so much worse, shatteringly worse. Here's to less ball-dropping in 2020, or, at the very least, to less damaging ball drops. Ill drink (out of plastic, just in case) to that!
