They're fun, I guess.

     It feels like the end of a party, I guess.  Not many people are left, but the music's still blaring like it expects them to start dancing again.  Three people are over by the kitchen having an animated discussion that you lost interest in an hour ago.  A couple by the stairs is having an intimate conversation.  Someone's passed out on the couch.  And you're standing by yourself, drunk, in the middle of someone else's living room, with a half-empty beer in your hand.  That moment's realization, that the party's over and it's time for you to go home, that's what it feels like.
     You're too drunk to finish your beer, so you set it down on the coffee table.  You leave quietly out the front door without saying goodbye.
     As you stagger home, you think about the night's events.  At first, you decide, there was a lot to remember: Laughter! Gossip! People! Party!  But as you turn it over in your mind, you find it all getting blurry, quiet, and dim.  "It was just another party," you think.  "Just another reason to get drunk."
     Later, as you're laying in bed waiting for sleep to overtake you, you find yourself feeling sad and can't quite place why.  The party didn't make you feel sad.  In fact, it didn't make you feel much of anything at all.

I don't know if parties ever end like that for you.  For me, they end that way sometimes.
December usually feels like the end of a party.

I'm not sure why I'm blogging this.  I guess sometimes I just want to say things aloud.