Alas Poor 2012. I Knew Thee Too Well.

See that white-out glare on the left side of the photo? That's the glare of deep and falling snow. I took the picture that way on purpose. I did.

Dear 2013:

Um. I don't really know how to say this. You're cute and all — I mean, the Mayans were left speechless by you — and it's awesome that you're the new girl on the block. But, I'm not ready for you to be here yet. I'm still making up with 2012.

See, 2012 was a bit nuts. A lot of us think she was a too much of an attention-seeker. I mean, we had the Olympics (Huzzah USA!), the Queen's Diamond Jubilee (which I assumed meant Queen Liz would be handing out diamonds, or at least individual servings of cherry-crepe flambé, but apparently I was mistaken), several elections — including ours. Which, holy-smoking-cow, could we be done with that whole media overkill? I think we should all just put our heads down on our desks and raise a thumb as candidate names are read. Fuggeddabout debates and campaign ads. Just print up fliers and let us pick — the North American Downton Abbey onslaught, Hurricane Sandy, several tragic and horrific shootings which frankly I don't know how we recover from or put a stop to in your year, dear 2013, the Facebook IPO of hilariousness, Curiosity landing on Mars, and Angelina Jolie's leg winning an Academy Award. Yes it did. There were pictures.

Here's the deal, 2013: I'm willing to let you into my little circle of friends, my clique, if you will. But only if you put a kibosh on a few things. Like the media screaming tragedy and villainy every waking moment, giving air-time to people and things that don't deserve it.

Also, intolerance of differences. I'd like to see that go. Differences of every stripe are what make this world so fascinating and thrilling. Even the differences we don't all agree with. How boring would life be if all we had was one point of view, one take on things, one song to sing. Differences are brilliant — if every side handles them with respect. Surely we can do that.

And finally, little Miss 2013, I'd like you to take care of a travesty. A travesty, I tell you! Of epic proportions. The only way I can get Bendick's Bittermints and Tiptree Little Scarlet Jam from England is by paying a Queen's ransom online, and then waiting like a month for it to get here. That's appalling. One must have one's mints and tiny strawberry-filled jam. Fix that, please. Also, you could fix the weather. It's getting weird.

In sum: I will move on to 2013 when 2012 has given me a massage, healed the world, filled my coffers with English culinary delights, and made television the equivalent joy of watching The Wizard of Oz  like I did as a kid when the networks would broadcast it to our homes once a year. You do that, and I'll embrace 2013 with open arms.

Until then, I'm leaving my 2012 Christmas decorations up.