New Years Eve.

This is the night where we're all supposed to evaluate our lives. To look back on the past twelve months, or even longer, and figure out what we did right and what we did wrong. Now, nine times out of ten people look to the bad stuff they did or the regrets that they have because that's just what we do as people. We're programmed to focus on anything negative and put the positives to the very back of our minds. Just for New Years Eve.

A day later and it's all forgotten about and we go back into our ignorant ways about how we live our lives. It's not a healthy cycle, but one we all do, and I am no different.

As I stood there in the nightclub and the DJ announced that there was only three minutes left of a year where I'd once again failed to achieve anything of any real note (he didn't use as many words but I knew he was thinking it), I couldn't help finishing my drink in one sip and ordering another instantly.

I scanned the crowd for my two friends, only partly wondering how I'd lost them in the first place. I say partly because I'm pretty sure I already knew the answer.

I could give all the bullshit excuses of how we were just three guys in the biggest club in the city on arguably the biggest night of the year. Or how even though we weren't tiny, we weren't giants either and sometimes got pushed around by bigger crowds. Or hell, even that it's just almost impossible to see anything in a dark room, lit only by the intermittent flashes of light, every colour of the rainbow whilst hundreds of people are dancing together like they're all in sync. But I'm just gonna go ahead and tell the truth.

I'd been drinking for eight hours straight and I was pretty fucking loaded.

It was at this moment, the moment where I was surrounded by five hundred people and yet I'd never felt more alone in my entire life, that I started to think about my immediate future. The one that involved the fast approaching year. I know you know what I'm talking about.

This was going to be my year.

I wasn't going to be the same stupid kid anymore. I wasn't going to spend every weekend seeing how drunk I could get and I certainly wasn't going to make chasing girls the biggest priority in life anymore. This was the year I was going to make something of myself.

As the ball dropped and midnight hit, I raised my glass to whoever was watching, whoever felt the same way or whoever was worried about my swaying from side to side in the drunken haze that had consumed my life that night.

That was the last thing I remember about that night.

I woke up the next morning and found that I couldn't take any of my fingertips off my forehead without it feeling like a marching band was tuning up between my ears.

"Fuck," I groaned as I tried sitting up, only to repeat the word when I realised that the four walls that surrounded me weren't my own. In fact, not only was this not my room, this wasn't even my house!

I looked to my left and saw a not so nice looking girl sleeping not so peacefully next to me. She was snoring like a banshee and it seriously wasn't helping my hangover.

"At least we didn't have sex –" I began to think to myself before seeing my underwear on the floor at the other side of the room.

Aw shit.

Now, it was in this moment where I said the same thing everyone says to themselves on New Year's Day.

"Well . . . I guess there's always next year."

*

So you're probably thinking that you know me by now, and I don't blame you. How can I when you're probably eighty-five per-cent right? But let's see if we can fill in some of the blanks shall we?

My names David. I'm twenty-six and living the high life in the big city of Seattle with my two best friends, Dean and Eddie. And contrary to what I said to myself on New Year's Eve, I fucking love my life. Well most of the time anyway. That morning in particular though, was a struggle.

The good thing about it being new years day was that very few people were going about at eight-thirty AM as I made my way home to our shared apartment. It turned out that it actually wasn't far from where from where I'd ended up crashing.

Some people seem to think that guys take pride in doing the walk of shame. Like we strut around acting all confident like we just won the Super Bowl while literally carrying our entire team on our backs. In reality, we hate it just as much as girls do. There is nothing in life that can prepare you for the look of disgust that an old lady gives you as you walk past her cradling the bottle of water you stole from your conquests fridge. The look of seething hatred as she stares at you, even though the little dog that she's walking is literally taking a shit in the middle of the road, she's more disgusted in you! I should've just taken a taxi.

Finally, I made it home and was immediately greeted by the loudest shouting I'd heard that year so far (lame joke, I'm sorry).

"Hey! What's up, you dog? Where did you get to last night?" I was either asked or accused by Eddie.

Eddie was one of those people who was always getting up to some sort of mischief. Whether it was pulling pranks at school or stealing peoples shopping carts in the mall and watching their confusion as they found it round the corner in the next aisle. Weird, but funny. As we grew up, he changed obviously, but that underlying crazy side was always still there. Which is probably why he and I get on so well. We're practically the same person except he's much, much, louder.

"I don't wanna talk about it," I answered hoarsely. The pain in my head had now progressed down to my throat so that I felt like some sort of alien creature could climb up through it and escape me any second.

"Oh. One of them?"

"Yeah," I replied. Nothing else needed to be said.

I dropped onto the leather couch in the centre of the cluttered living room with the intentions of never moving again. Unfortunately I'd need to stay awake throughout that time though as Eddie insisted on talking. Did I say mischievous? Maybe I meant annoying.

"At least you got something though. I ended up back here passed out exactly where you're lying now," He complained.

"This is the comfiest couch in the world," I muttered from my new home.

"Yeah. I don't know why I crashed there though after dumping all my clothes in my room."

"Oh god!" I cried, the hangover forgotten in an instant as I bolted upright and rushed through to the adjoining kitchen and began rinsing my face under the flowing, cold tap water.

"Are you feeling ok? You're not going to throw up there are you?" He asked in disgust. If I wasn't dry heaving at that exact moment I would have cried out that he was the one who had slept naked on a communal couch. Someone needed to clean that and it wasn't going to be me.

Finally, I composed myself and swallowed down my discomfort.

"Are you ok?" He asked again, acting concerned but I knew his worry was laced with a snigger.

"Oh yeah I'm fine," I lied. "Nothing cures a hangover like naked ass residue."

"I taught you that! Remember that!" He smiled without a care in the world.

*

After surviving the rest of the day in my sanitary bedroom, I felt much better about my life, and was once again ready to go out. Unfortunately no one else was.

Eddie's earlier bravado and energetic attitude had worn off and he was now suffering from what we liked to call a slow burner. It's when you wake up after a heavy night yet feel totally fine, or even still drunk. Unfortunately that feeling doesn't last and the hangover hits at around seven or eight at night. So while he was dying, I tried to track down my best friend Dean, but he was nowhere to be found.

After the three of us graduated high school, we all made a pact to stick together and have as much fun as we could before we were old and it was too late. We started working crappy part time jobs while we went to college but Eddie and I dropped out to work full time. With the money we were making, we were able to afford this great three bedroom apartment in the middle of the city and afford a decent bathroom too. Because let's face it, there's a lot of disgusting bathrooms in apartment blocks.

Eventually, one crappy job led to another and before we knew it, Eddie and I were working together for a massive software company. We weren't doing anything major, but we were getting paid way better than ever before. All we do every day is sit in the office and answer phone calls, either reading people the basic instructions or putting them in touch with the specific department they need. The best part about it is that absolutely nobody knows how to fix a computer. So they call us and if we help in any way, we get a percentage of cost on commission. It's literally the perfect job! Well, most of the time . . .

*

"Yeah . . . yeah . . ." I spoke on the phone nonchalantly as Eddie kept making faces at me from across the desk. He was trying to make me laugh and was failing miserably, despite his already wide eyes almost bulging out of his head.

It had been three weeks since my failed new year's resolution and I was determined to continue my life of indulgence. For one reason or another, I hadn't been out since. First, Eddie had some family to visit, and then I did, and in all that time we'd barely seen Dean at all. But now it was Friday afternoon and I was forcing someone to come out, no matter what. Firstly though, I had an emergency to deal with.

"Is it switched on?" I asked the customer down the phone, beginning my list of default questions. "I understand sir. Is it plugged in? . . . Yeah, to the wall." The amount of people who got computers for Christmas was incredible, and most of them didn't know what they were doing with them. As a result, January was always a busy month for us. "Alright that's ok then, is the socket turned on? . . . Oh, I see. That's great Mr. James; it's no trouble at all. You have a good day now. Ok, bye!" I hung up cheerily before finally giving Eddie the attention we wanted. "God I fucking hate this place."

"I wouldn't worry about it," He smiled in between slurping his strawberry milkshake. "Everybody does. You realise that you're the only one who's actually doing any work? It's Friday afternoon, man! Let it go!"

"I can't dude," I shrugged. "If I sit still and don't do anything I'll lose the will to live even more than I already have. I just can't wait to get out of here. It feels like forever since I've had actual, real fun."

"You think Dean will come?"

"Dude, I don't think Dean will even come home!" I laughed, even though I wasn't joking.

The reason we hadn't seen him for so long was because he was now basically living at his girlfriends. It was across town and closer to college so originally it was supposed to be just for the weekdays. Now it seemed like my weekdays weren't the only ones to last forever.

"Do you think it's because she doesn't like us? Christy, I mean," He asked me.

"Oh she definitely doesn't like us. Remember that time she said we were a bad influence?"

"How could I forget? I've never been so insulted in my whole life. It's not our fault she's allergic to fun."

"Sometimes I wonder why he's even with her."

"I think it's got something to do with her being a total knockout," Eddie mused.

"Could be, could be," I spoke in my voice's version of some sort of professor.

Our fun, but unimportant conversation was then interrupted by the last person we wanted to see. Other than Dean's girlfriend, Christy.

"Hey guys!" Called the unforgettable, cheery voice that belonged to Joel.

Joel is that guy at your work that you hate. Everybody has that guy. He wants to be everybody's friend and for some bizarre reason, he spent more energy on us then he did with anyone else.

"Sup Joel?" Eddie said, trying to be friendly. Like he said to me, it was Friday.

"You guys hitting the clubs tonight?" For some reason he said the word "clubs" like it was three-hundred and eighty-five letters long. The only thing longer than his hair. He was also like forty years old. Just so you know.

"Nah, not tonight. I think we're just gonna stay at home and have a movie night! Right Eddie?" I lied.

"Absolutely. Netflix and chill. You know the drill," Eddie winked, which I felt was a bit unnecessary.

"Oh . . . that's too bad. Well, if you guys change your mind . . . hit me up!" He said this while giving us two thumbs up, ensuring that under no circumstances would we be hitting him up.

Nor would we be changing our mind about going out. Ever.