The Pivotal Moment

At that particular moment, I danced as I never had before. Flashing lights, pulsing energy, sultry bodies in vigorous movement. Tick. I laughed. I hardly noticed it pass. For almost a year, similar pleasurable moments filled my days.

Flash. I was all alone. Depressed. Chilled. I sat in the dark, disheartened and despondent. I waited indifferently for the moment to pass. Tick. A tear tracked down my cheek as I slid into my cold bed with a shiver and tried to fall sleep. I was resigned to the acridness of melancholy moments that surely laid ahead. They spanned a year.

Flash. Rage coursed through my blood. I was engaged in a bitter confrontation; the "beginning of the end" as I came to knew it. Tick. The continued effect reflected throughout the year. Unusual hostility, sickness, pain, and tragedy surged.

Flash. I was surrounded by friends and acquaintances. Music and laughter pleasantly filled the air. I enthusiastically sipped a tall glass overfilled with fragrant champagne. As the moment approached, I passionately promised myself it would be the best yet. Tick. The ensuing year was filled with astonishing moments.

Flash. I was forced to cancel on the event I planned to attend. I laid on the couch in misery. I could barely move. Even the act of drinking water was enough to wear me out. I waited for the pain meds and the antibiotics to start working.

The moment is quickly approaching. On TV there are celebrations taking place from all over the world. I shiver and wrap myself tighter in the fleece blanket.

I worry. I think about the past. If history remains consistent, that particular split second in time when the moment passes will be captured and echoed throughout the next full year. I am concerned. Shortly, when it slips by I will be alone and dreadfully ill.

When the Pivotal Moment passes, will I be condemned to a year of misery? Impossible. Could a Pivotal Moment actually exist?

Pivotal or not, the moment gets dreadfully closer. In New York, the Clintons push the button; the Ball begins its famous descent through the frosty night. There is electric in the air at the anticipation mounts.

Tick. It passed.

Is the power of the moment a cosmic coincidence? Or some sort of self-fulfilling prophecy?

There is nothing to do but wait. Or is there?