It could be a shop floor. Or a factory. An industrial wreck.
But it's not. They have cheery seats and monkey faces. And free drinks. And us.

There is so much warmth at my table. My insides feel fuzzy and my cheeks glow. I can tell. They play music to which I mentally dance. I am wearing a straw hat and my heart on a sleeve. I am dancing around a tree, or a fire in the middle of the forest. The air is crackling with the enthusiasm of so many people.

There is affection and food and sweet concoctions that make their way to my head, slowing it to a point where everything feels huge and everything consumes me. There are random hugs and squeals. There is laughter that feels like being hugged in the cold.
There is us. At my table.

The bathrooms have nuts and bolts. Which is which. Which is either. Or none. We hop down the stairs with playful abandon, because we are chuffed and full and the trying week is now behind us.

It's not cold enough to wear a sweater but it's definitely cold enough to be hugged tightly.

We don't dance, but if we did now would be the perfect time.

The cane chairs are comfortable. The lights are yellow - my favourite kind. The liquids keep flowing and the food appears and disappears from the table in a flash. I am in an ideal place, a part of the conversation but not in a way great enough to be required to constantly contribute. 

People ask me about you, you know that already. They ask me about where you are and then they smile, drawing on some memory of you with them. A dinner, a meeting, something you said. There is a lot of warmth in this conversation. 

The stories that follow are stories that warrant posts in themselves. 

Far away and all that. Things I am not allowed to say. You know it all. 

I fell asleep in a sea of comfortable blankets, glowing from the night that had gone by. When I woke up, I woke up happy. 

In a few hours, the year will draw to a close.
We will jump, a little too happy from all the stuff consumed, and hug and shout and hug some more.

So many things to be grateful for this year. So much growing up in a quiet manner. So many memories. So much maturity and so much more immaturity. So much love for the people who made it worth it.

Tonight at 12, when I'll think of everyone of consequence, I'll miss you. I know you know that, and it's true. I don't know if I'll text you or if we'll make jumpy, spirited calls to you or whether I'll just have to shut my eyes tight and wish you inside of my head.

New year's is just another day. January 1st is just another day too. But if either make you happy, then nothing else matters.

2012 will be remembered for being exactly what it was. Big smiles and sparkling eyes.