I’ve got a feeling.
by Nic Olson
The first thing I heard in 2010 was the worst song written in decades. I’ve got a feeling. ooOO. The first five times I heard that song, it ended up being the worst night of the week. But that has changed slightly. I mean, the song is still terrible, but the last five times I heard that song, it ended up not being the worst night ever.
I wanted to look cool, so I skated a half lap and looped back around to the Maid of Honour, who was standing in flats near the entrance gate. I shifted my body weight and angled my skates to that angle of spraying snow and friction that characterizes stopping on ice, except my blades were dullards of similar stature of the writers of the ‘Tonight’s gonna be a good night’ song. My skates gave out, lost my footing, I cut her leg with my skate, and we fell onto the ice in front of a crowd of cameras, her in her dress, me in my tuxedo. She bled. I apologized. I had a feeling I would ruin the wedding celebration in someway, and I guess I slightly ruined Mara’s shaven leg. With blood and cuts.
I’ve got a feeling that hellos and goodbyes that are done with purpose are big. Hugs are huge lately. I said goodbye to a friend a short while ago and my eyes welled up and inside my chest my inner self shook its head in complete despondency. Then a few other friends later, I felt a stirring in my chest while saying a hello. I have a feeling that this is normal when a person plans on leaving his or her hometown of eighteen years, in the short period of a week. Things such as driving to Pilot Butte to try and boost a giant truck are important to my mind’s well being. Because I’m leaving. And because of this I ask myself why would humans fool themselves by pretending to resolve for a New Year’s change when they could just make a decision and actually act?
And it turned out that it was a good night. Great night. The clock danced in my hand at the moment of new decade. Danced to the worst song of the previous decade. And it danced with the purpose of the upcoming in mind.