The day after was when it began.

Slowly and surely, it became apparent to even the most casual observer that things were changing.

But it was slow. It wasn't a rapid change, it was a progression that everyone noticed, but felt uncomfortable about commenting on.

Life went about as usual. People still drove to work, despite the sudden sinkholes opening on the highways, dropping down to depths that could not be seen to the naked eye.

They would just drive around them. Everyone would complain and bitch about it, but act as though it was a new, but very normal inconvenience.

And then the sounds started coming from the sky. Like the bellowing of a cosmic trumpet, the sounds were heard not just through the ears, but a great trembling was felt in the body as well.

Must be some local construction

They could only ignore such things, as to admit they were happening would not conform to their idea of reality.

And so they looked towards the screens for solace; And Behold, those men with faces that looked serious, their voices chosen for their comforting aspects, they spoke comforting words about how all this was to be expected, and it was normal.

And it was the day after.

The day after my neighbor had brought me Christmas Cookies and Kind Words, wishing me the best, knowing how lonesome I was, and inviting me to his family's dinner.

It was the day after I watched my neighbor ascend towards the sky, to a party he could not invite me to.

With fauci in it as the super vilain

There is no hope for this New Year.

A year is just a unit of time, measured arbitrarily, by the orbit of a lonesome planet around a single star.

There is no hope for this next month, January, a month named after the Roman God, Janus, a deity in charge of nothing more substantial than Doorways and Thresholds.

There is even less hope for this week, Seven Days Named after Seven Astral Objects, Planets or Moons or Entities seen in the Sky.

And I would be doubtful that there is even hope for this day, short as it is, numbered with Four-and-Twenty wicked hours, each left with less hope than the last.

There is no hope for a New Year, Month, Week, or Day. These are false measurements of time.

But there is Hope, and it is all around you right now in this very instance.

Hope does not follow a calendar.

Hope follows You.

Anytime you do the right thing, Hope is with you. Hope doesn't exist in the Future, or the Past.

Hope is inside you right now.